The Adventure Begins
by JMcCarthy1688
Summary: A new ship & crew, USS Arizona. Its a Special Ops ship, set right after Star Trek 4. It's complete & we welcome reviews. Its rated T for some salty language. Feel free to email questions & comments. [PLEASE REVIEW!] No. 2 is coming!


**Prologue**

Angry voices echoed through the darkened room. Haunting voices that whispered with an underlying current of accusation and uncompromised horror. The frigid air that hung about seemed to amplify the suffocating sense of desperation that tore into the dying man's heart. Friends, family, crew, and a host of others called out to him from beyond; some from years past, others just hours ago. The Commander wondered if this was really what it was like when the end was near.

Were the sins of his life being revisited, or was this merely the last battle of a guilty conscience, an attempt to resolve everything before he moved on? Were the voices really there, or could this be the banter of a delirious mind? One thing was for sure, either way, he thanked the gods that he couldn't see the faces behind the voices. He was sure that if he did, his heart would stop right then and there.

Suddenly he was jerked back into reality, sitting bolt upright, almost as if he had been struck by lightening. At first, in the groggy haze, he almost convinced himself that the events of the past few days had just been a terrible dream, until he tried to draw in a deep breath. Before his lungs had even taken in half their capacity, he felt the deep, hollow rattle in this chest and began to cough uncontrollably, igniting a searing fire in his lungs. Just when he thought his chest would finally explode from the pressure and release him, the spasms tapered off, leaving him with the oddest sensation of a deep burning mixed with an almost comical tickle. But even that faded as a new fact raced into his brain: The slightly salty, metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

A tidal wave of panic engulfed him as he stood and started toward the bathroom. It was getting worse, much worse and much too quickly. After running every test known to science, his Chief Medical Officer surmised that somehow he, Commander Jack Xavier, was immune to this scourge running rampant through the Starbase. Some weird quirk in his physiology, something that the doctor couldn't put his finger on. As it turned out, it had not been immunity at all, merely a delay of the inevitable. A desperate laugh started in his stomach, but never made it to his lips. Halfway across the room a new spasm of coughing racked his body. This time he could actually feel the coughs tearing his body apart from the inside out. No doubts about his condition remained, he was dying. The worst part was he was partly grateful. Any end to this misery was welcome.

Based on the progression of the disease among his crew, his life had been reduced to hours, maybe even minutes.

Jack stumbled through the doorway to the bathroom, setting off the sensors that detected a presence and activated the lights. The normally comfortable glow had become a brilliant white fire, as if a star had gone supernova right in front of his eyes. His trembling hands shot up to his face. As he rubbed at his temples, he could feel the throb of each heartbeat through the vessels under his fingertips. Through clenched teeth he barked at the computer to reduce the lights by 75, and immediately felt the relief as the room dimmed. He stumbled over to the sink and activated the cold tap, vigorously splashing his face, trying to gain a better foothold on his conscious mind. He imagined that by now his fever had risen to dangerous levels, but the only thing he could seem to focus on were the delirious hallucinations. Even now he could hear faint voices calling out to him, moaning for help, begging for release.

Letting the cold water drip off his face, he looked up at the man staring back from the mirror. He had to rub the film from his eyes and look again at the stranger, making sure he wasn't seeing things. He had been born in the Virgin Islands back on Earth, and normally he had black hair and a dark complexion that spoke of long days in the sun. However, the man he stood facing now told of a completely different story. His skin had become sickly pale, anemic looking. If that wasn't enough, the skin had the appearance of having been pulled taut across his face, as if he had gone without the benefit of food for several weeks. Two things overshadowed all of that, his cheeks were flushed purple with countless burst blood vessels, making them looked bruised; and his eyes were two black disks floating in a sea of dark blood. It was no wonder he had cringed from the bright lights of the bathroom.

Another coughing spasm quaked up from his chest, leaving the iron taste of blood again in his mouth. He activated the tap again and filled his cupped right hand with cold water. The minute the water hit his mouth, he spat it back out in pain and revulsion. Instead of washing the taste out of his mouth, the cold water felt like it had been acid. Jack stretched his mouth wide open and he studied it in the mirror with a groan. His gums had receded to the point that he had to wonder what was keeping his teeth from falling out.

He pushed himself away from the sink, suddenly nauseated by his own appearance. The sad part was, he had never gotten used to seeing this in his crew the last couple of days. Everyone had looked pretty much the same before an end finally came to their misery. In the beginning, he had found solace in his apparent immunity, claiming he had to be removed from it all so he could make decisions. Deep down, he knew the truth, that he could stomach it all.

He wondered just what kind of commanding officer he was. No, he had to be honest now. He wondered what kind of _man_ he had become. He had avoided close friends and colleagues, mainly because their appearances had turned personally disturbing. He had tried over the last few days to rationalize his actions by attempting to convince himself his isolation was for safety reasons, but he knew better. He couldn't face the reality around him, and, like a child, he buried his head beneath the covers.

Commander Xavier began to hear the cries of those who had been struck by this bug from no where days ago. At first, the sobs and coughs had mainly come from Sickbay. But within a mere 24 hours, the sick were everywhere. In their quarters, the Rec areas, in the work areas, and finally even in the hallways. Everywhere you looked, the stricken wept and called out for help, help that they knew in their hearts wasn't coming. Commander Xavier himself had seen a combat-hardened Marine openly crying, delirious with fever, and repeatedly whispering the name of some long ago love. That incident more than any other, including his own battle with this horror, had solidified the terror and helplessness of this situation.

The way he saw it, there was only one thing left to do now. He had to make it back to Ops. Everyone else was gone now, whether they knew it or not. The only thing he could think to do at this point was to warn off the ships that would be on their way, responding to his original distress call. He had to make sure that it ended here. Another thought crept into his mind. Maybe he could find the courage to open the outer hatches, hopefully killing this nightmare that had invaded the station and everyone's lives. Hope had died along with most of the crew and he knew that even the ones still laboring for breath were lost. This would only be a quicker end to the misery, and a much less painful one too. But much more than that, it might even kill this bug so that no one else would have to suffer needlessly. Hell, the medical logs surely contained enough information by now for Starfleet to form some kind of plan of attack.

His superiors would almost surely drag his name and reputation through the mud, but then again, who the hell were they to judge. It would be easy for them in their cushy offices back on Earth to point out a hundred and one avenues that he could have taken. He really didn't care. He would be dead soon, and he was thankful he had no family left to shame. As far as he was concerned, his good name had died three days ago. What was one more log on the fire?

Commander Xavier walked over to his closet and picked out a fresh uniform. At least he could go out with a little dignity. Slowly and very methodically, he put on his uniform jacket as if he would be entertaining important visitors. For the first time in days he felt a sort of peace come over him, almost like when he was a cadet finally attending his graduation. At that thought, a tidal wave of memories overcame him, carrying powerful emotions with them.

Suddenly, Jack found himself standing at the Academy podium again, looking out at his family sitting in the row just behind his fellow classmates at their graduation ceremony. He could feel the wood under his hands, could see the proud smile on his father's face, the tears of joy in his mother's eyes, the look of unquestioned love on Rebecca's face. That he had been the best day of his life. Before the loss of his parents, before Rebecca left, before all this. That day he had stood on the edge of a great height, looking out over his whole future.

But that future was gone now, and Jack Xavier was left to face the present, for however much longer it lasted. He took one last look in the mirror. Not exactly the ideal image of a commanding officer, but considering the circumstances, it would just have to do.

Steeling himself against the horrors he knew lay ahead, Jack manually opened the cabin door to the main corridor. He was immediately overcome with the ripe odor of decay. Like most of the other systems on the Starbase, the air purifiers had gone offline long ago. Now the air hung heavy with the dead and dying. Using the sleeve of his uniform to block out the smell, Jack started to make his way down the dimly lit hallway. He didn't want to look down, but the bodies of his fallen crew made the going treacherous. Caution had to be the watchword, caution and respect for the dead. Picking his steps carefully, Jack made his way to the first intersection of his journey.

Turning left towards the Operations Center, Jack suddenly stopped in horror. Sprawled out, face up on the floor in front of him was Ensign Lore Newfield, her fingers buried in the soft flesh of her own throat. It appeared that in the latter stages of the virus, Newfield had tried to tear open her own swollen throat in a vain attempt to restore her breathing, a look of primal satisfaction frozen on her dead face. Ensign Newfield had transferred to the Starbase only two months ago. The day she had walked into the Ops Center, Jack knew she was too good for this place. She had been second in her class and had the drive to go far in Starfleet. Still, she had looked at this assignment as a learning experience. As her commanding officer, Jack had tried his best to teach her the skills she would need later on to move up in the ranks and away from this pathetic outpost. But like everything else, that didn't matter anymore. In the end, all of it seemed pointless. Jack could no longer chalk these horrors up to his imagination.

Looking at her body again, a wave of panic broke over Xavier, and suddenly he had to be anywhere but here. Fear took hold of him and he started to run. He ran with every ounce of strength he had, he ran blindly not paying attention to where he was going, but most importantly, he just ran. Emergency batteries gave him enough light to see by, but seeing was the last thing Jack wanted to do. He ran faster and faster punishing he already burning lungs. It didn't matter, he couldn't stop now. He couldn't afford to see another member of his crew. Jack knew he was already dangerously close to that imaginary line between rational thought and paranoia. He didn't want to cross that line, so he tried to outrun the creatures so close to catching him.

Before Jack had even known that he tripped, he felt himself falling. Out of instinct, he put his left arm out to brace himself from the coming impact with the deck. Instead of connecting with the hard floor, his hand passed through something soft and yielding. Without even seeing what he made contact with, Jack jerked his hand away in disgust. The badly decomposing body of one of his crew lay beneath him. Its rotted flesh had given way like the side of an over-ripe melon, the crewman's uniform was the only thing keeping his hand from actually penetrating the body. But it was too late for that thankful thought, the psychological damage was done.

Jack sprang to his feet and started to run again, screaming, crying, mumbling to himself, as he accelerated through the shadow-filled corridor. It began to feel as if the fluid in his lungs had started to boil, but he refused to stop. He was so close to the end now, and only then would he let himself rest.

Rounding the last corner, Jack pulled up short of the main doors leading to the Operations Center. Before he even reached the doors, his body was racked with yet another spasm of coughing. This time Jack noticed an alarming amount of blood he coughed up and realized just how short his time was. He was going to have to work fast if he was going to accomplish his goals. Pushing the doors aside, Jack made his way into the Ops Center.

**Chapter 1**

The sun was still an hour from rising over San Francisco, but Captain Jacob McCarthy trudged on through the empty, silent streets, with only the echo of his boots on the pavement to comfort him. He hated these early morning meetings, but in general he just hated mornings.

Now, starting to smell the salty morning air coming from the bay, he felt more awake, almost human in fact, but still not ready to deal with work so early.

After rounding a corner, he could see the great onyx building that housed the Security and Intelligence Division of Starfleet Command, set glossy black against the still-dark sky. The light breeze stirred the trees in the outlawn as he started up a paved walkway toward the main entrance.

McCarthy knew as soon as he stepped onto the grounds he was being constantly monitored and scanned by the building's automated security systems. His every move was watched and logged and his identity confirmed as he passed the topiaries and water gardens on his way to the large main doors. Before he even arrived at them, the system scanned his vital signs to make sure he was who he appeared to be and ensured he had clearance to be here at this hour.

After passing through the first set of doors, he stopped and let the scanner check him for any unauthorized weapons before letting him through the second set of doors. If the system found something it didn't like, both sets of doors would lock, sealing him in while the big men with the phaser rifles were called. With a beep, the second doors opened and he approached the guard desk. McCarthy traded good mornings with the yawning guard and paused for the palm and retina scanners. Only then would he be allowed into the lift.

Stopping on the 31st floor, the lift paused before opening the doors, the automated system calling ahead to make sure he was permitted to even exit on this level. McCarthy then made his way to his office door. After the usually security procedures, the computer decided to let him in.

Immediately, he started up his computer terminal while he got himself orange juice out of the food replicator. Drinking it while walking back without spilling it down the front of himself was easier said than done, but as he stood reviewing his daily messages on the screen he almost spat it out.

"Damn it! I knew it." he cursed to the empty office. The meeting had been cancelled.

Throwing himself into his desk chair, the Captain sighed deeply and wondered what he was doing here. And not just this morning.

He couldn't call what he did work, all he did was analyze information that came in from various Starfleet vessels and then advise on a course of action. Any half-trained flunky could do that. So why was he here? The bigger question was why didn't he do anything about it?

Jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes, he heard that little voice inside startup again. It had been chiding him about his complacent attitude a lot lately. He could remember back three years ago when he gladly accepted this position from Admiral VanderJagt and considered himself lucky.

McCarthy had served under Fred VanderJagt on board the _USS Endeavor_ as his first officer for five years. He was even decorated for saving his Captain's life. So, when his former commanding officer, now promoted to Admiral, was put in command of a section of Starfleet Intelligence and specifically asked for him as his right-hand man, McCarthy felt it was the right thing to do. Not only did he feel it may lead to other things down the road, but it was comfortable.

"_Too comfortable, I think."_ Said the voice.

He enjoyed serving under VanderJagt and it was true, he hated change.

"_That's not the first time you've been accused of hating change is it?"_

But, after three years of the same routine, he was beginning to rethink he decision.

A knock on his open office door snapped McCarthy out of his reverie and his spun around.

"Hey, stranger," a lilting, feminine voice said from the doorway.

"Kelly, hey! How are you?" he sprang up to greet his visitor, grateful for the chance to silence his inner voice. "Congratulations are in order, I hear." He said as he met the pretty brunette at the door, ushering her into his office.

She surprised him with a big, albeit platonic, hug. "Yeah, thanks to you!" Kelly replied happily.

McCarthy played it off, pulling out a desk chair for her. "Well, 'Lieutenant Commander' has a better sound to it than just 'Lieutenant'." He grimaced in mock disgust. "Ugh, too commoner."

"Yes," Kelly began. "but it was less of a mouthful than Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Kelly Rademacher." She teased. "How have you been doing?" She said, as she flipped her long, curly brown hair behind her shoulder while she sat down in one of his desk chairs.

"Still here in paradise," the Captain replied sarcastically, retaking his own seat. He wondered if she would pick up on his displeasure and ask about it.

"Barely got back here in time myself." She said, preoccupied with her own emotions. "The _Edmund Fitzgerald_ was delayed getting back to Earth after the Probe went through our area."

Jake nodded, recalling his own experience with the large alien probe that came to earth in search of humpback whales.

"How did you guys fare?" He asked.

Kelly grinned ruefully. "Let's just say I got a promotion out of it."

McCarthy smiled, but he let it fade as it dawned on him another junior officer had just gotten a promotion and was moving on, thanks to him. "Hey, can I get you something?" he asked, changing the subject and nodding toward his replicator.

"No, thanks, I really don't have any time. I'm waiting for a late transport shuttle, but I wanted to stop in to thank you."

"No problem. As soon as I saw there was an opening for chief engineer I thought of you. You're the best I know." He replied.

"Thanks." She returned, mirroring his smile. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about this assignment. Why won't they tell me which ship it is?"

McCarthy pushed aside the work padds littering his desk. "Well, it's a unique assignment." He said absently tidying up.

Kelly's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why is it you know about this and I don't?"

"I'm in Starfleet Intelligence. I know everything." McCarthy replied flippantly.

A annoyed look crossed her face. "Good! Maybe you can answer some questions I have because I can't get any answers. What's the big deal with this assignment?" Rademacher asked. "All I know is I had to go through a ton of questions about my background. Who were my classmates at the Academy, where was I born. I was asked about my personal life, friends, all the places I've lived. I even got a communiqué from my parents saying they were interviewed about me getting this position! What's going on?" She questioned with a look of both curiosity and worry.

McCarthy cleared his throat. "What did they tell you during the interview?" He asked in an even tone.

"Only that I was being assigned to a new, experimental ship, I was not to talk about it, and any questions would be answered by the Captain, if he saw fit." She replied, reciting from memory. "I'm glad I bumped into you. My mind's been in a whirlwind ever since I accepted this and no one will give me any answers and I am starting to regret accepting it. What's so special about this new ship?"

McCarthy sat back and looked at her, releasing a small sigh of resistance that he didn't realize he had been holding. Keeping things quiet was almost second nature to him.

"Well, I'd hate going into this not knowing so I'll give you the low down myself." He said seriously. "This isn't exactly a new ship, just one with a unique mission. They had to make sure you were the right person for the job" McCarthy came forward and clasped his hands on top of the desk in front of him.

"Several years ago, when relations between the Federation, the Klingon government and the Romulan Empire were at their worst, Starfleet decided they needed an edge, something to give them the upper hand. After the successful, although almost disastrous, theft of a Romulan cloaking device a few years ago, it was decided that it was too risky to have a regular starship carry out such missions. They decided to develop a starship whose primary mission was to perform covert missions. It would be kept quiet, the crew was specifically trained for special operations that required… discretion. In the beginning only one ship was built as an experiment It was so successful there are now five. They are called the Black Fleet, all operating on top secret missions that half the Federation doesn't even known about. Starfleet can and has denied any knowledge of their actions or even their existence. Your new ship would have been named the flagship of the fleet, except according to Starfleet records she doesn't even exist. Most of the people on board have been in Special Operations for several years already.

"I know you don't have a special operations background but the number of officers to pick from when filling a position in this line of work is limited. When I saw you were up for a promotion I put in a recommendation for you as new Chief Engineer."

The compliment helped calm Kelly a little. "Thanks," She mentally weighed her new assignment against the unanswered questions she still had. "I think."

"It's the truth." The Captain returned. "And don't worry, you won't regret this assignment."

"Okay, I'm going to hold you to that," Rademacher gave a head nod. She was satisfied for the time. "So, what about the crew?"

The Captain picked up a padd for reference. "Well, lets see. Captain William Norwood has been in command for several years. He's good but I hear he's a stickler. Commander Alan Seward, he's the First Officer. Good man, friendly, I've worked with him before. Don't get him pissed off at you, but he's handled so many of the deep-cover, covert missions you'd have to dig pretty deep into Starfleet records to even find him mentioned. Even then you'd send up so many red flags that you better have a good reason for asking about him."

Kelly's eyes widened and she sat up in her chair. "This is starting to get scary." She muttered.

McCarthy continued reading. "Lieutenant Scott Werner, Chief Navigator; Lieutenant Roberta Ramie, Chief Helmsman. Those two I don't know much about, they are new transfers along with Katerina Federov as Communications chief."

"Wow," Rademacher's eyebrows rose. "Kat Federov? I met her once, very intelligent. I sat in on a seminar she gave on communications once. Everything she said went right over my head." She admitted.

"They say she's considered a genius. Admiral VanderJagt was telling me about how she helped redesign this ship's new communications system. He said she even broke three Romulan codes, in her spare time and while she was going to the Academy, all just for the hell of it." McCarthy said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

"Did you know she's blind?" Kelly asked.

Jake frowned. "No, I didn't." He replied in surprise. "Its not that common anymore with implants available. You mainly only see it in people who live on frontier worlds with no advanced medical facilities. Her parents never had her get surgery?"

Rademacher shook her head. "No, her parents felt that you should deal with the hand fate deals you and it doesn't seem to hold her back at all." she told him.

"She doesn't have prosthetics or anything?" He asked frowning.

"No, she carries an electronic mapper with her for new places, or in case she gets lost, but she doesn't use it much. She's like most people who lose a sense, the others are strengthened."

McCarthy took in a deep breath. "Wow, that is impressive." Turning back to his information he continued. "Well, the three of them, Werner, Ramie and Federov have been assigned together before. They try to do that a lot, keep people who have worked in Special Ops together with each other instead of trying to introduce a stranger into a group. There are a few others but you'll have to introduce yourself later when you get on board." He broke into a sly smile. "I don't want to spoil all the surprises just yet."

Rademacher gave him suspicious, sidelong glance. "I'll bet."

**Chapter 2**

Lieutenant Roberta Ramie hurriedly checked her hair in the shiny control panel before exiting the turbolift and proceeded down the corridor with her usual business-like stride. She was thankful the deck was thickly carpeted as she rounded a corner and found two crewmembers chatting in the alcove of a cabin door. Neither of them heard her approach.

She could tell from the way the male was standing, with one raised hand leaning against the wall, that it was a casual conversation. The young woman he was trying to convince of his honest intentions, was standing with one knee bent and her arms crossed. Although she also wore a smile, Roberta could tell she didn't believe a word.

"Ensign Gibson." Roberta said calmly, stepping up behind the male. The young woman, O'Neil was her name, saw Roberta and snapped to attention. Gibson, the young man, slowly turned around. At the sound of another female voice behind him, he naturally turned on the charm. Having been surprised by a senior officer though, he tried his best to repair the damage.

"Ma'am!" He exclaimed, switching off the suave smile and snapping to attention so fast, Roberta almost laughed.

"I believe you are still on duty?" She asked coolly as she surveyed his open jacket flap.

"Yes, ma'am!" Fumbling with the flap, he quickly did up the shoulder strap clasp without worrying about the individual snaps. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"Dismissed," Roberta said crisply, her hands together behind her back.

Gibson hurried off, tail between his legs. Roberta looked back to O'Neil, who quickly turned and ducked into her cabin, red-faced. Roberta smiled to herself as she continued toward Kat's cabin and had to stifle a laugh. It felt good to use her new rank.

Roberta was a young woman, thin but of medium height. Her auburn hair was kept short, just down to the back of her uniform collar. She had beautiful, almond-shaped, deep green eyes that most everyone commented on the first time they met her, making her self-conscious and look away. She didn't mind if some of her peers considered her to be stick in the mud because she believed in doing things right the first time.

"_If you always do the right thing, you'll never have anything to worry about." _Her grandfather used to tell her. Although he was considered a severe disciplinarian, Roberta used his advice as a guideline for her life.

Counting steps to herself as she walked the corridor, she arrived at the cabin door at precisely 27 paces. Tapping the call button, she waited, counting off five seconds to herself, and then let herself in.

"Just me," Roberta called out as she activated the lights and walked over to Kat's desk to sit. Katerina's cabin always smelled like fresh flowers for some reason. A muffled response from the bathroom revealed Katerina's location.

Roberta sat at Kat's shiny black desk, calling up the computer terminal as she lazily rested her chin on her palm. She turned off the voice option, preferring to read through the ship's daily messages.

Impulse engine baffles were to be cleaned today, that didn't interest her much; some of the crew were looking to put together a intramural baseball team, she cocked her head to the side as she thought about that one, then had second thoughts about getting all sweaty in front of other people. She had already read the Captain's daily report from her bridge terminal. She was quite pleased with herself for the commendation the Captain gave her for her department's drill times in his report. Even though the ship was still sitting in dry dock, she believed in keeping her people sharp by running drills.

Quickly scrolling down the last of the messages she saw none that caught her eye and closed the terminal down. Reading the small glowing text made her more sleepy than she realized and she stretched, arching her back as Katerina walked in from the bedroom dressed in her workout gear. Roberta noticed she only brushed against one piece of furniture in the whole room. Already she had memorized the placement of everything in her cabin.

"Well, I am going for a run," Kat grabbed her towel and tossed it over her shoulder. "Want to come?" She asked, bundling her long, pin-straight, yellow blonde hair up in a ponytail.

Roberta finished a yawn before answering. "Oh, no way!" She twisted her neck to crack it back into place. "I need to get something to eat and go to bed. These 12-hour shifts are killing me! Especially just sitting there running test programs and battle drills."

"That's because you don't stretch enough. You are going to the Galley? Later I could meet you?" Katerina asked as she grabbed her mapper and clipped it to the waist of her pants while heading for the door. Roberta followed her out, smirking to herself at Kat's Slavic accent.

"No, I want some real food. I think I'll go down to the kitchens and make myself something!" She got a devilish look as she mentally reviewed her choices.

Katerina feigned worriment with a hand to her chest as they walked. "Should I let the Fire Suppression team know now?" She joked. Roberta's culinary "experiments" sometimes got away from her.

Roberta gave her a playful shove back. "What can I say? I'm bored!"

"Maybe you should stop by Lieutenant Werner's cabin and see if he could join you? I bet you will not be bored." Katerina teased her. Scott Werner was the Chief Navigator and mutual friend, assigned to this ship along with Kat and Roberta. The three had known each other for quite sometime, much to Werner's delight.

"Don't even kid about that!" Roberta hissed and admonished her as she noticed a crewmember walking nearby. "We just got settled in here and I don't want any rumors started. Besides," Roberta dropped her tone as she continued. "Scott has been moody lately. Not like his usual lecherous self either. I don't know what his problem is, and I don't feel like helping him solve it." She explained with a distasteful scowl.

Katerina gave her ever-present smile and shook her head. "Well, you won't be bored much longer. Monica called me from the bridge. The Captain got our orders. We are to get ready to get underway for the rendezvous."

Roberta stopped in a panic and grabbed Kat's arm.

"Seriously? Man, it's about time. When do we ship out?"

Kat mentally calculated the time as she began walking again. "Around two hours." She replied nonchalantly.

Roberta stopped her again. "Two hours? How can you be so calm? I have a ton of things to get prepared!" She groaned.

"What? My department is ready to go." Kat replied, with a cocky grin.

"Well the rest of us humans aren't as perfect as you. Come on, you can run later. We need to grab Scott and get up to the bridge."

"C'mon in, Jake." VanderJagt's deep baritone voice called from the inner office after he buzzed the door himself. The Admiral's secretary must have been out to lunch.

McCarthy found the older man in his office, impatiently waiting for his new food replicator to bless him with a cup of badly needed coffee.

"This damn things slower than my ex-wife." The portly, grey haired man said to McCarthy as he pointed him toward a seat in front of his large grey desk. "Park it."

"Nice to see you too." He stated, still standing. The smell of fresh coffee began to invade the office.

VanderJagt eased himself down in the large black desk chair, holding his cup close to savor the smell. "About damn time." He muttered, mainly to himself. He calmly enjoyed the first sip before he set it down to address McCarthy.

"Sit," VanderJagt jabbed a finger pointedly at one of the tiny, straight-backed chairs in front of his desk. Glancing at the uncomfortable chair, McCarthy opted to sit on the corner of the Admiral's desk.

The Admiral eyed him narrowly, but only rolled his eyes.

"Okay," McCarthy began with a yawn. "Do I want to know why we are both working through lunch?"

VanderJagt took a deep breath and sighed. "I think your predictions are coming true." He said plainly, taking another sip of coffee.

McCarthy's brow furrowed as he stood. "What do you mean exactly?" he asked.

The Admiral turned his chair to face the viewscreen on the wall behind him as he replied. As if on cue, the curtains began to close, blocking out the afternoon sun as the screen popped on. It displayed the section of space between the Federation and the Klingon's known as the Neutral Zone. Established by treaty years ago, it was patrolled by each side's respective ships, but entering the area was considered an act of aggression.

"This is Starbase 119," the Admiral explained as he zoomed in on a distance corner of the Zone. "Its outside the normal space-lanes, kind of all by itself. They sent in a distress call about 12 hours ago. It was relayed through Omega Relay Station and then forwarded to us after they analyzed it. All the relay station could get out of it was something about a infection and some medical scans the Starbase sent along. Since the initial message, we haven't been able to contact them."

McCarthy pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold off the headache he could feel coming on.

"Damn it," he muttered. "I knew something like this was going to happen."

"I know," VanderJagt replied. "and it gets worse." The Admiral leaned forward and tapped at his computer terminal, changing the view to show an enlarged image of a virus. "Omega Relay had the good sense to forward this to Starbase 110 where Dr. Joseph Blackbear is stationed. He thinks it may be genetically engineered."

McCarthy sighed. "Oh, great." He added, throwing himself into one of the tiny, wooden desk chairs. "Well, Blackbear would know, he's an expert in virology." Rocking back, he crossed his arm and sat with his forehead wrinkled in thought. "Damn," He muttered again. "If this was a man-made virus, you know what this sounds like, don't you?" He asked gravely.

Admiral VanderJagt did. Anything man-made opened the possibility of a biological weapon, something specifically designed to kill. After a solemn moment he continued. "Well, we need to go out there, find out exactly what happened."

"Who's on field rotation?"

"What about you?" VanderJagt asked with a crooked smile.

McCarthy's brow rose. "I suppose I could..." He started, trying to think up an excuse, although he didn't know why. He had just about given up hope of ever getting out of the office.

"I need to know what happened." VanderJagt explained, trying to win him over to the idea. "This could be a first strike against us."

Jake sat tossing around ideas in his head. "Even though this is on the Klingon's front doorstep, I don't think it was them. My money is on the Romulans." McCarthy said, thinking out loud.

VanderJagt nodded his head. "That's what I was thinking, that's why I sent for you. This is just something they would try. A subtle attack while putting the blame on someone else." It was the perfect setup for a Romulan plot simply because it was no where near Romulan space.

McCarthy's head was working in overdrive. "This is classic tactics for them. Shift the blame onto someone else, who is obviously innocent, while they stand back and watch." He said, not even hearing what the Admiral had said. "I _could_ handle the investigation."

"Why not, Jake? You've been stuck in that office for too damn long. You belong out there. If I had my way, with a ship of your own. Besides, this is a chance to put some of your theories to the test."

McCarthy smiled. "Alright," He finally said.

VanderJagt smiled and extended a chubby hand. After the shake, he sat back and rubbed his chin in thought. "I am going to assign you as special advisor to this mission, you being the foremost authority on the Romulans." He tapped at his terminal, calling up and reading the screen. "But you'll need a ship." The admiral spoke as he eyes scanned the information. "I'll arrange for you to be transferred out. Departure orders are being drawn up as we speak so go pack. Report to me as soon as you have something."

**Chapter 3**

"Well, it's about damn time!" A gruff voice announced from the command chair as the lift doors opened, revealing Roberta and Katerina. The two had stopped by Werner's cabin only to find him gone. With no time for a search, they went back to Kat's cabin so Roberta could eat while Kat changed before heading up to the bridge. Roberta decided that leaving Scott to fend for himself should the Captain come up and find him unprepared to ship out would be his own fault. Now it looked as if the girls had been the ones caught with their guard down.

The Captain's black chair swiveled around slowly, revealing Lt. Scott Werner, grinning at his two startled bridge-mates. He was a shorter man, but muscular, with short, jet-black hair; piercing dark eyes; and a square jaw.

Roberta had stopped in mid-step, a look of horror on her face, but as she recognized it was only Werner and not the Captain, she strode past him to the helm embarrassed and muttering under her breath.

As she sat, Roberta could feel the eyes of the junior officers on her as they enjoyed the joke at her expense.

"Very funny," she finally retorted, not knowing what else to say.

"I thought it was," Werner chuckled, still sitting at the conn. His foot happily tapping on the tan carpeting.

Katerina had taken her position at the communications station and was adjusting her earpiece.

"I knew it was you and not the Captain." She smirked, taking some of the bravado wind out of Scott's sails.

"Oh? How?" He challenged.

"You do not smell like him. You have terrible aftershave. I could smell you from the lift doors, Stinky." Federov replied, again much to the delight of the juniors at their stations. "I would also suggest you get out of the Captain's chair." She said, as she activated the smooth, black touch panels located around her station.

Werner shot her a scornful look, but tempered it with a crooked grin. "You need to relax more, Kitten." He replied silkily, trying to upset her coolness by using her least favorite nickname.

"_I expect a little more decorum on my bridge, Lieutenant." _

Werner froze at the sound of the deep voice directly behind him. Without even bothering to turn around, he knew Captain Norwood had caught him. Unbeknownst to him, Norwood had stepped on to the bridge seconds before. Kat knew he was there before he spoke. Werner jumped up as if he had been sitting on a spring and immediately went to attention.

"Yes, sir. I apologize, sir. I meant no disrespect..." He began.

"Then you won't mind getting out of my way." The Captain replied with a hint of impatience. Norwood was over six feet tall with a thin build. He had a full head of light brown, perfectly coiffed hair that was just beginning to show the gray at the temples. His well molded, even features, smooth, set jaw and stern, gray eyes spoke volumes about the man's mood. He had been in Starfleet for over 50 years and had earned a reputation for being so harsh and demanding a captain, that he had gone through more first officers than anyone else in the 'Fleet. Norwood had come from behind the conn and was now waiting for Scott to step aside.

Werner almost stumbled down the single step from the command area and headed for his station at Navigation. He shot a sidelong glance at Roberta and, making sure the Captain couldn't see, gave her a cocky wink. She shook her head imperceptibly, unable to believe his daring, but still enjoying his getting caught. Werner of course, mistook it as encouragement.

Norwood slowly sat in the command chair, allowing himself the small pleasure of a tired sigh, and then it was time to get to work. Inwardly, he felt a smile tug at his mouth as he watched Werner and Ramie at their posts. He could remember a time when he was as brash as Werner. Some of the things he had been written up for would shock this new bunch. Now a days, he didn't have the luxury.

"Status," he asked with more weariness than he wanted to show. He was tired, tired of reviewing repair estimates, tired of engineers poking and prodding around, tired of sitting and waiting for his ship to become his again. The ship's down-time had become his, for what good was a captain without a ship to command? Now he was finding it hard to shake the lethargy. It felt like when he was a child and had taken too long a nap. The sleepy feeling was hard to recover from.

Activating the mini-consoles on the arms of his chair, he began ticking off the departments as they checked in. Finally, having noted in his log all duty station were ready to go, he started down the mental checklist of getting the ship on her way. Then everything was ready.

"Helm I believe you have the coordinates for the rendezvous?" He asked Werner.

"Yes, sir. Had them laid in and plotted a course over thirty minutes ago, sir." Was his confident reply.

Norwood paused. Staring at the back of Werner's head, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A rueful grin grew on his thin lips.

"Lieutenant?" he asked low.

Werner turned around to face his new Captain, his face beaming, ready to serve.

"Let me tell you about a Yeoman I once had. She was real go-getter, kind of like you. Always had my meetings planned out for me, made sure I got up on time, even met with the ship's medical officer to discuss changing my meal plan when she thought I was getting a couple of extra pounds. Really took care of things, you know the type?"

Werner's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir, I do." He replied enthusiastically.

"You know what happened to her?" Norwood asked. "I had her transferred off my ship so damn fast she barely had time to pack." Norwood leaned back into his chair. "Try to remember that." Inwardly he was enjoying the look of horror on Werner's face.

Werner, his mouth hanging open, slowly turned back toward his console. He noticed Roberta watching the exchange. As soon as she saw his face, she let loose with a laugh that had been building as she listened to the Captain's words.

Surprised, she quickly, she clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was a half-hearted attempt. She enjoyed glancing around and seeing the other officers sharing a laugh at someone else's expense.

**Chapter 4**

A sudden jolt jarred McCarthy awake. Bleary-eyed, he quickly checked his surroundings. He was still aboard the long range shuttle _Kanavalov_ that had left from Spacedock four hours prior. Looking out the front of the shuttle he could see that they had landed on a dirty, dust covered planet on the edge of a ramshackle town in the middle of this world's nighttime.

"This it?" McCarthy asked cocking his head toward the outside as he looked to the pilot.

"Yes, sir. Sirius IV as promised." He replied, checking his instruments and paying McCarthy no attention.

McCarthy glanced outside again dubiously. This hardly seemed the place to meet a starship. He knew that Sirius IV was a failed mining planet, mainly deserted. Lately it had gotten quite the reputation for the roving gangs of pirates that seemed to call it home.

McCarthy stood and went back to the hold for his only bag, the worn, leather satchel his mother had given him upon his graduation from the University of Dublin.

"So, how will I know who I am meeting?" He asked standing near the side hatch.

The pilot snorted a laugh. "Just look for a place called _The Neutral Zone._ He'll know you." He replied, opening the hatch from his console. McCarthy barely had time to clear the doorway before the pilot was lifting off. In a few seconds the Captain watched the shuttle streaking out of the atmosphere leaving him in the middle of nowhere.

Bringing his arms out in a sign of hopelessness, he silently cursed the Great Bird of the Galaxy and then let them fall heavily to his side. Shouldering his bag, he started a cautious walk through the darkness and toward the town, trying to watch his step over the rock-strewn ground.

Coming around the corner of a deserted building, the Captain found himself standing in a sort of make-shift main street. Most of the buildings were either deserted or burned out and everything had a decayed look, like a ghost town. From the feeble lighting of a few solar powered lights, McCarthy could see people moving to and from the only building that seemed to be alive, although it seemed to be on it's last breath. Most of the windows had been knocked out and the outside walls were braced up in places to keep from caving in. Above the heavy metal door read a hand painted sign that denoted the places as _The Neutral Zone_, although 'neutral' had been spelled with a 'w'.

With a headshake, McCarthy pushed open the door. This had to be a mistake.

Inside it was worse. His nose stung with the smell of rot, sweat and stale beer. The few people and rickety furniture inside were as dirty as the building was outside. Several were races McCarthy could recognize; Terran, Klingon, Andorian, but a few (especially the larger ones) he had never seen before. Some paid no attention to the newcomer in the clean, maroon uniform. Others glanced at him and went back to staring at their smudgy glasses.

''_This had better be a mistake.'_ McCarthy's brain said. He had to agree as he caught the surly, inquisitive looks from a group of dressed like miners in the back corner. Well, if this was to be the place for the rendezvous he might as well make the best of it. Figuring his contact was late, McCarthy straightened and headed for the bar.

"Whiskey," he said, slapping the bar to get the homely Tellarite woman's attention. She slid, sloth-like off her stool and shuffled over to him. "An' leave th' bottle." He told her, letting his brogue slip through as he spoke. He liked the rough sound of it, and felt it was appropriate.

She thunked a metal bottle down on the bar along side a cracked glass and shuffled back to her stool.

Busying himself with pouring a drink, McCarthy tried to ignore the jeers that had started from the group in the corner. When three of them got up and started toward him, McCarthy noticed half the patrons scurried for the door.

"_Yup, this was a mistake."_

"Ooooo, big Starfleet officer." The one on McCarthy's right started it. "Hey, boys, looks like we gonna have ta be on our best behavior and salute and say "Yes, Sir" and "No, Sir." He hollered drunkenly as he saluted with the back of his hand against his forehead. The men with him rolled with laughter as more patrons headed for the door. McCarthy tried to ignore them as one leaned in and belched in his face, which only made them laugh harder.

"Nice uniform," one of them started to say, but as he put his hand on McCarthy's shoulder, the Captain spun around and delivered a surprise blow to the man's nose, sending him the ground. Out of instinct, McCarthy prepared himself for the rest. The one on his right who had saluted him went for a kidney punch as the huge brute on McCarthy's left aimed for his jaw. With a quick dart, he blocked the kidney punch, then planted a shot of his own into the man's solar plexus. The brute, taken off guard to see his friend going down, threw off the aim of his punch enough to miss. McCarthy grabbed his meaty wrist and bicep and side-stepped behind him, bringing up the wrist near his shoulder blades. The brute howled like a wounded animal as McCarthy drove his knee into the man's common peronial nerve, buckling his legs. The Captain pushed him over to hit the floor with a thud.

"Alright," the leader in the corner rose calmly. Captain McCarthy noticed that the rest of the bar emptied out hurriedly with just this one word command, leaving him with these unknown men. "Follow us." The leader said to McCarthy. He watched as the group quickly and quietly helped each other up and made their way toward a back entrance.

"Like hell I will." McCarthy said. He had no idea who these people where.

"Captain, in a place like this, in that uniform, you won't last long." The leader told him.

He had a point, McCarthy would stick out like a sore thumb. What choice did he have?

Following them out back, behind the bar, he got the feeling they were more than just a band of drunken street thugs. The way they cautiously slipped through the dark, silent streets always stopping to listen before continuing on, never talking only using hand signals to communicate suggested ex-military or mercenaries.

As they moved through the shadows, McCarthy noticed they were trying to get him lost as the backtracked and wound their way though the back alleys. Eventually they wound up in a dead-end. The leader signaled back and the whole group huddled down behind some debris in the alley, near the plank wall barricading the alleyway. The brute behind McCarthy dug something out of his pocket and after a couple of beeps the wooden hologram wall disappeared revealing a six-wheeled land rover behind it. McCarthy watched as the group scuttled forward and each man jumped on, finding a seat in orderly fashion.

"Come on," the leader hissed at McCarthy beckoning him to hurry and join them. Again having no choice, McCarthy squeezed and the rover started off with a jolt. They drove on for hours through the darkness, leaving the town behind and heading toward a distant mountain ridge. McCarthy had to fight to stay awake as they bounced along. He still didn't know who he was going to meet or why he was here. All he did know was that he didn't trust anybody.

Eventually, the land rover slowed and McCarthy could barely see the dark entrance to one of the mines coming up fast. The rover stopped short and everyone jumped off, heading into the abandoned mine. From the outside, McCarthy could hear the shadowy echoes of the men moving about, preparing equipment for something as they conversed in hushed tones. They seem to have forgotten him completely.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Come in and find out." Said a voice from the darkness. It was the group's leader coming forward so McCarthy could better see him. He seemed genuine enough, and again, McCarthy didn't have much choice. It didn't make much sense for them to take him out here all this way just to kill him anyway.

Shaking his head, he started into the mine, cautiously feeling ahead in the dim light.

Once inside, he could see from a faint glow that there was a shuttlecraft, hidden inside the mine. An unexpected drip of icy water from the cave ceiling onto his neck prodded him forward. He could see the team going over the shuttle, preparing it to launch. As McCarthy watched their progress he noticed the leader off to the side speaking quietly with another man. Trying to get closer in an attempt to overhear their conversation, McCarthy caught that as the two parted, the other man called the leader 'sir'.

Noticing McCarthy, the leader walked over.

"This is your crew then?" McCarthy asked, leaning against the rock wall. There wasn't much more room in the mine for the shuttle, let alone the men.

Surprisingly, the leader of the group turned to him and smiled. "You might say that, Captain."

"Sir," another man came from inside the shuttle and knelt at the doorway. "departure checks are just about done."

"Very good, get everyone aboard." Turning to McCarthy the group leader welcomed him aboard as well. "Please take a seat, sir."

McCarthy was ushered to the rear of the shuttle where he set his bag on the bench seat along the wall. Once on board, he knew he was on a Starfleet shuttle, but he hadn't seen one like this before. The outer hull had been almost black, permitting it to hide perfectly in the low light. McCarthy even consider that it might be able to avoid sensors. Inside, the soft blue glow illuminated the interior without being blindingly bright. Mounted above the bench seating in the back were several heavy duty weapon's lockers and the pilot's area up front was recessed so passengers in the back could see out the large viewport in front, but couldn't see the actual control panels or the information on them.

"Everyone is aboard, sir." The last man announced as he secure the door.

"Good. Mr. Allard?" the leader called up front to the pilot. The man who had belched in McCarthy's face back in the bar turned from the console.

"Yes, sir?" He responded, with no trace of the drunken slur he had before.

"Set course for the rendezvous. Full impulse once we are clear of the planet."

Allard nodded an acknowledgement. "You got it, Commander." He said cheerfully.

Ducking slightly, the commander came and sat on the bench seat near McCarthy.

McCarthy's brow rose. "Commander?" he asked inquisitively. "Yes, sir." He turned to McCarthy and extended a hand. "Commander Alan Seward, sir."

As McCarthy shook his hand, he started to introduce himself out of habit, then realizing they already knew more about him than he cared for, he cut himself off.

"So, where are we headed?" The Captain asked, changing the subject.

Seward smiled. "Sorry, sir. My orders were to deliver you safe. That's all."

McCarthy sat back in a huff, but even as he crossed his arms, he had a feeling this had been arranged by the Admiral. Deciding to sit this one out and relax, he got comfortable and watched the stars streaking past. He watched for the tell-tale spectrum shift of a ship going to warp, but after a few minutes had past without him seeing it, McCarthy realized they were still within the Sirius star system. Evidently their destination was close by.

"Sir," it was Allard the pilot, who broke the monotony a few minutes later. "We are at the rendezvous. Shuttlebay doors are opening." The young man announced.

Seward rose, McCarthy followed suit.

"Very good, continue with docking procedures." Seward advised him. He turned back to find McCarthy glancing past him to see out the front of the shuttle. McCarthy could see they were approaching the dark side of a moon somewhere in the Sirius star system. Hidden in the terminal darkness, he could just make the faint outline of a starship hanging dead in space.. All of her running lights were off, windows covered so that no escaping light would give her away.

An sly smile played over Seward's face as he noticed McCarthy stealing a look past him. He called over his shoulder. "Oh and Mr. Allard?"

"Yes, Commander?" Allard returned.

"You may forego the tractor beam, if you'd like." Seward said, eyes on McCarthy.

"Yes, sir!" Allard replied, enthusiastically. "Thank you." He said, as his fingers danced across the console.

In the back, the Captain's eyes widened and he quickly reached up and grabbed a roof strap hanging from the ceiling of the shuttle. The tractor beam was used to guide shuttles and other small craft into the hanger bay and set them down on the deck all under the control of the automated system. It eliminated pilot error and reduced the risk of a pilot colliding with the ship during a landing. Manual flights were not unheard of, if the system was damaged for instance. But it would take a very experienced pilot to fly into the hanger bay and then set the shuttle down manually all while the ship itself was moving.

Seward glanced up and noticed McCarthy's grip. "Don't worry, sir. He does this all the time."

The shuttle's engines suddenly whined in protest as the young pilot accelerated quickly. The shuttlebay doors were barely open wide enough as the shuttle rocketed toward them. Allard canted the shuttle on an angle to slide between them as he slammed the shuttle into reverse thrust. The shuttle coasted into the bay under its own momentum. He then brought the shuttle to a soft touchdown on the deck.

"Welcome aboard the Black Fleet starship _USS Arizona_, Captain." Seward said formally as he opened the shuttle's hatch.

Stepping down the stairs and onto the deck, McCarthy noticed a small group that came to attention.

"Yeoman Workema," Seward called forward a small woman not much older than twenty with dirty blonde hair and large blue eyes. "Please arrange quarters for Captain McCarthy." He ordered.

Dutifully, she stepped up, padd in hand to McCarthy and began to give him instructions on how to get to his cabin.

"Make sure to get him settled in quickly, I am sure Captain Norwood will want a briefing from him almost immediately." Seward called as he trotted in the opposite direction to another turbolift.

McCarthy hadn't been able to even get a word in edgewise with this chatty yeoman, let alone ask Seward exactly where he was before he felt a grip on his elbow. The yeoman, deciding he looked puzzled enough already, took McCarthy by the arm and was bustling him into a turbolift, escorting him there herself.

Up on the bridge, the lift doors parted to reveal a man dressed in dirty and patched civilian clothes stepping out onto the bridge. He pleasantly surveyed his new surroundings, taking it all in before he noticed Norwood standing at the command chair watching him, and his dirty, sweat-streaked face cracked into a lopsided grin.

"Commander Alan Seward, sir. Reporting for duty."

Norwood sighed heartily. "Well, it's about damn time." The Captain replied, echoing a statement from before. Werner cringed.

Seward was coming forward, his bandaged hand extended. "I'm sorry, Captain. It couldn't be helped. I like the new bridge though." He said, shaking Norwood's hand with a steely grip. He scratched a hand over the several days worth of whiskers accumulated on his chin and smiled, knowing Norwood was giving his outfit the once over. He didn't offer any other explanation other than the smile.

"Do I even want to know where you've been?" The Captain questioned his executive officer. He was starting to sound more relaxed.

Seward hesitated, weighing his answers. "I could tell you, sir, but..." He paused.

"You'd have to kill me, yes, I know. I've heard that one before." Norwood returned laced with a little mock sarcasm. Was that the beginning of a smile starting at the corner of the Captain's mouth? "I take it Admiral VanderJagt _borrowed_ you, again?" He asked in return.

"Something like that, sir." Seward responded, his eyes gleaming. "Oh, and we brought back a guest. Assigned to us by Admiral VanderJagt, along with new orders." He said, passing over a datachip.

Norwood grabbed it and crossed his arms as he listened. "Fine." He said flatly, as he let a sigh pass through his nose like smoke from a dragon. "I'd like to see you then, and him, in the briefing room in twenty minutes."

Seward was already headed for the lift. "Yes, sir, twenty minutes." He called over his shoulder.

Norwood turned. "In uniform and clean-shaven, Commander," he ordered sternly.

**Chapter 5**

McCarthy hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder again as he tried to keep up. After being bodily thrown into a lift and pushed into his cabin by the overzealous yeoman, he got a call from Seward that the briefing was in ten minutes.

Hearing this, the Yeoman offered to stay behind and help him prepare, but he quickly assured her that she had been more than helpful and he could manage.

After making sure she was gone, he dashed back to his bag, looking for his PADDs. He was tossing clothes out when Seward appeared at his door calmly waiting to escort him to the briefing room, clean shaven and a fresh uniform.. He looked much more ready for it than McCarthy felt.

Hurrying out of the lift they stopped around the corner, right outside the briefing room. Inside, McCarthy had a quick look around as he tried to prepare the briefing he was supposed to be giving.

The room had three large windows across from the door, giving a beautiful view of space as the ship sped along. He also noticed several ancient black and white old style photographs on one wall depicting the original United States battleship _Arizona, _including a large one hanging by the door. It was taken from the front of the ship looking at one of the massive gun turrets with the tall bridge tower in the background. Every railing, every stairwell and even on the barrels of the great guns rested hundreds of smiling young sailors. Even stretching all the way up to the bridge the white dots of faces smiled down. Every man aboard, in his crisp white uniforms, looked happy and proud to be there.

The rest of the room was done in warm earth tones, tans and browns, with indirect lighting spilling over the large wooden table that dominated the room.

Seward spared Captain McCarthy any added trouble by introducing him to Captain William Norwood, but he didn't mention a large, darkly tanned man sitting solemnly in the shadows at the other end of the table. He seemed to be asleep.

McCarthy wasn't sure if more staff were coming until Captain Norwood opened the briefing.

"I've called this briefing in regards to our new mission as a courtesy to Captain McCarthy. Admiral VanderJagt sent word that he feels the Captain would be an asset to us on this mission. Frankly, I don't like having a nursemaid second-guess my orders, but the Admiral feels differently. So, Captain, if you please." Norwood said, retaking his chair.

McCarthy had tied his PADD into the briefing room viewscreen to display a map of space surrounding Starbase 119. It then zoomed in automatically and showed a detailed map of the station, pointing out various parts of the spinning model of the starbase before the whole sequence started again.

Moving to stand near the viewscreen, McCarthy could feel Norwood glare at him as he cleared his throat and began.

"Several hours ago, we received a distress call from Starbase 119 reporting they had become infected with an unknown virus. It was spreading through the entire crew and nothing seemed to affect it. We believe it is possible that this virus is some form of biological weapon."

Seward leaned forward in his chair. "What makes you say that?

McCarthy consulted his PADD. "They were able to send along some medical results they collected, which were analyzed by Starfleet Medical. Preliminary reviews think it's been bio-engineered to be a perfect killer. It looks like it has the ability to mutate from a bloodborne pathogen to an airborne one. It also was able to customize itself to attack each race the same way, no matter what their body chemistry. The base compliment was made up of over 18 species with an unknown number of visiting alien races and no one seemed to be immune." McCarthy sighed. "Since the original message, there has been no contact with Starbase 119."

The room was silent for a moment while the information was digested.

"What about cross-contamination?" Seward asked. "If we go poking around, can we protect ourselves?"

"I think standard Biosuits will protect us." McCarthy replied, nodding. "The starbase staff would have tried them, but it was already too late for them. By the time they knew something was up, it was already in the air system. It seems once contact has been made it is only a matter of time before anyone starts to show signs."

Seward reclined back in his chair. "If the base has gone silent, I think its safe to assume they are all dead. So why are we even going inside? Why not blow it up and hope it destroys this virus?" He questioned.

Jake flicked his eyes toward Captain Norwood, looking for reaction. He simply sat watching the verbal sparring.

"I've seen tests on viruses that are this virulent." McCarthy explained. "They usually burn themselves out quickly without a host. Besides, we need to learn all we can about this virus. If it is something unleashed on our people intentionally, and I think it was, we need to know who created it."

"And how to destroy it." The deep baritone voice came from the shadowy corner at the other end of the table, breaking into the conversation like a roll of thunder from an approaching storm. Standing and stepping into the light, McCarthy saw that he was a large-framed man of Native American descent. His olive green turtleneck under his maroon uniform jacket denoted he was in the Medical Service. His jet-black hair, cut in a militaristic flattop, was tinged with iron gray at the sides and the face McCarthy studied was heavy-joweled, dark-eyed, and impassive.

"If the Starbase personnel are a loss, they are better off." He said in a low rumble.

Norwood smiled. He knew what was coming. "Captain McCarthy, my I introduce Dr. Joseph Blackbear, Starfleet Medical."

McCarthy stepped forward, hand extended. "Doctor, it is good to finally meet you." He said politely.

Dr. Blackbear studied the Captain for a moment before calmly registering his out-stretched hand. He made no attempt to return the greeting.

McCarthy dropped his hand after an awkward silence. "I've read several of your papers, Doctor. I found them very informative and interesting." He said, trying to repair this unknown rift he evidentially had with this man.

"And I believe I have you to thank for this… _assignment._" The doctor countered, emphasizing the last word in a louder rumble than before.

"Assignment?" McCarthy asked, perplexed.

Norwood coughed sharply in a poor attempt to hide a chuckle. "Dr. Blackbear has been assigned to this ship for this mission, primarily because of his knowledge, but also because our chief medical officer was killed in our last mission. Oh, and because of your recommendation, Captain." Norwood concluded, enjoying McCarthy's situation.

"In other words, you put me into this mess." Blackbear said.

Norwood nodded. "Doctor, a great man once said _'We all have our assigned duties...'_" He replied. "Now, Captain, if it was engineered, any idea who may have done it?"

McCarthy took a deep breath. "Well, sir, even though it happened on the Klingons' doorstep, I don't believe it was them. It's not their style. If this out-of-the-way base had been a threat to them, they would have simply destroyed it long ago."

"Ok, if not them, who?"

"I think it was the Romulans." McCarthy announced, pausing for affect.

Norwood and Seward simply sat watching him impassively waiting for more. Blackbear stood solemnly watching him from his place by the table.

Cutting short his pause, McCarthy jumped into it. "Like I said, this is too subtle for the Klingons. I think that because this distant starbase was chosen adds to the belief that it was engineered. Whoever did it, needed a testing ground. They didn't want it widely released until it was the right time, but logically they wanted to see how it behaved."

Seward relented and nodded in agreement, but folded his arms. "Okay, but why the Romulans?"

"Well, they have more than enough knowledge. They have experts in genetic engineering and virology and not just on Romulan or Vulcanoids. They've got medical libraries specifically dedicated to alien physiology.

"Also, its just their style to attack one enemy and blame it on another. And because of the rumors we've been getting out of Romulan space lately."

At this, Seward and Norwood showed interest, both sitting forward in their chairs.

"For months now," McCarthy started. "Since Praetor Monra came into power, we've been getting sporadic rumors about a new sect that had formed on Romulus. A sect that was openly advocating a more aggressive stance when it comes to the enemies of the Empire. This seems contrary to typical Romulan Hierarchy, and in fact the new Praetor is rumored to be supporting this sect. This could be some plot to scare off opposing factions on Romulus." McCarthy concluded. He dropped his voice slightly as he added. "We can't get any current reports and haven't been able to contact our people on Romulus for some time now." As he finished, McCarthy noticed Norwood's eyes suddenly flick to Seward with an intense look, as if the two held an unspoken conversation. Seward's face betrayed a questioning glance and McCarthy noticed Norwood give a slight nod.

"I have no doubt," Seward began. "that your operatives on Romulus are dead."

McCarthy's jaw slackened. "How could you know that?" he said incredulously.

Instead, Seward continued. "And I am sorry to say most of your information on this 'sect' is wrong. The group is called the Tal Shiar, from the Vulcan word _tal-shaya, _which means an ancient form of merciful assassination. We've been worried about something like this for a while now. A few months ago we started to hear more and more about a new threat. It all started with Monra coming to power. He's a younger man, with some wild ideas that were immediately embraced by the Romulan people. They are tired of old men leading by old beliefs. This new guy, Monra, started preaching about taking a stance and fighting for their rights. Attacking their enemies swiftly and devastatingly. Win or lose, making the first move. But his ideas weren't widely accepted with open arms. Some spoke out about how his plans were reckless and foolhardy. That was until they started to disappear."

Norwood took over. He demeanor seemed to have softened. "He's put together a group of assassins to back him, this Tal Shiar. They are above everything, even the military, and answer only to him. He gives them free reign to get rid of his opposition. We have been getting bits and pieces about them working on a new weapon but nothing definite. Until now."

McCarthy licked his dry lips. "What about my team on Romulus? Maybe you're wrong."

Seward shook his head and sighed wearily. "No, Captain. We intercepted a message about a month ago. They were discovered and executed."

Captain McCarthy fought back the tightness in his throat. Could his contact with them given them away? But where would this ship get information like that? "But it's possible..."

"We hear more than Admiral VanderJagt realizes." Norwood said in a voice that closed the matter.

"I have contacts on Romulus. Its been confirmed." Seward confided sympathetically. He gave a disapproving scowl to Norwood who simply brushed it off.

Setting his jaw, McCarthy nodded stiffly.

"Well," Norwood began, standing. "Let's use this as a working theory, then. Someone, it may or may not be the Romulans, has used a biological weapon on a Federation Starbase. Our job is to find out why and who. We are currently in route to Starbase 119, Captain McCarthy, and should be there in close to seven hours. Until then, everyone is dismissed."

After the briefing, each man went his separate ways. Dr. Blackbear headed back to Sickbay and Commander Seward went off to prepare a boarding party for their arrival at Starbase 119. McCarthy headed back to his cabin to review his information.

With his desk in his cabin now littered like his desk in his office, he was reminded of his early morning visit with Kelly Rademacher. She had been assigned to this ship, and now coincidentally so was he. Activating his terminal, he put in a call to the Chief Engineer's office.

Getting no response, he made a general call to the entire engineering deck asking to speak to the Chief. After a short pause, Kelly's face filled his screen. In the background he could see the immense warp core stretching away toward the back of the ship.

"Hey, stranger." McCarthy said to her, echoing her early morning greeting.

"Jake!" She said, surprised. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Advisor to the mission." McCarthy explained. "I called your office, but obviously you weren't there."

"Hell, no! Not with all this stuff to play with." She said with a grin. "You were right, this engine room is amazing!" McCarthy noticed that she had a dirt smudge on the side of her chin. Evidentially she was really getting into her work.

"Well, so far you're the only one happy to see me on board. Maybe we could have dinner later?" he asked hopefully.

Kelly frowned. "Oh, I wish I could. I've got to finish this replacement job and then look over some duty rosters. And I'm thinking about switching the two twelve-hour shifts here to three eight-hour shifts." She said enthusiastically.

McCarthy nodded in disappointed understanding. "You've got enough to worry about. I'll take a rain check." He said.

"Okay, sounds good." Kelly replied and she closed the channel.

McCarthy sat for second staring at the blank screen. Finally his stomach jogged him out of his reverie. Checking the ship's online dinner menu, he found the Szechwan Beef sounded good and put in for an order. Any of the pre-programmed meals were available, but there were also a few choices were actually prepared fresh by a live chef. As he ate in his cabin, trying to remember how to use chopsticks, he was surprised at hearing the door chime.

"Come in," He called from the work station desk.

The doors parted to reveal Cmdr. Seward. "Hey," Seward said in greeting, walking in. "we didn't get the chance to talk before, and I wanted to apologize for being kind of a jerk when we first met." He cracked a lopsided grin.

McCarthy motioned him toward a chair. "No problem. Actually, it was kind of fun." He said retaking his own seat.

Seward's grin grew. "Also, I wanted to say you impressed Wild Bill."

McCarthy's cocked an eyebrow. "'Wild Bill'?"

"Captain Norwood. He's not easily impressed. You really know you're stuff, plus, he knows you've been out here before. Its not like your some green desk jockey who only reads reports and never even set foot off of Earth." Seward explained.

"You just described my life," McCarthy replied with a hand to his chest, feigning hurt feelings. The two shared a laugh that McCarthy cut short. He realized that it _was_ his life.

"Man, I gotta get back out here." He said with a sigh.

"No place better." Seward reply.

McCarthy needed a change of topics. "So, how long has it been?"

Seward smiled. "I was just going to ask you!" Seward leaned back in thought for a second. "I think it was a few years ago, I was part of the team you briefed during that incident with the _USS Reliant._"

McCarthy nodded in agreement. "That has been a while."

Both men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

Seward finally interrupted. "Make you feel old, thinking back that far?"

McCarthy snorted a laugh. "Yeah, it does. Especially when you've been stuck doing something you don't like."

Seward nodded. He could sympathize with McCarthy's situation. "Makes you feel like you're wasting time, doesn't it? That your time could be better spent doing something that you enjoyed? But then you get like me and you try to cram in as much as you can in the time you have and damn near get yourself killed every other day."

"Hmm," McCarthy muttered, contemplating, barely listening.

They sat for another quiet moment, then Seward stood. "So, how about a tour of the ship?"

**Chapter 6**

McCarthy relaxed against the lift wall as Seward punched in their destination. The lift started off with a gentle jolt and quickly began to descend. After a few moments of still going down, McCarthy glanced at the lift counter, wondering what could be so far down in the belly of this ship. At deck 24, the lift slowed to a halt and the doors puffed open. McCarthy stepped out first, and then let Seward lead the way straight toward the back of the ship. McCarthy expected to find storage and machinery bays, instead as they passed the tractor beam control area, the corridor came to a "T" intersection with a another, longer corridor that stretched on in either direction. There was only one massive door, set straight ahead, and it looked like a pressure door, like the kind on an airlock. To the left of the door was a small computer access terminal. Seward stepped up to the terminal and leaned forward for the computer to scan his eye as it asked for his authorization code.

"Seward, Alan, Commander, Alpha one, one, seven, seven." He replied.

As the doors unlatched and slowly slid apart, McCarthy could only see a large control panel in a dark room with the silhouette of someone working. Whoever it was, heard the door and activated the lights while spinning around to confront these intruders.

As the lights came up, McCarthy guessed the young woman standing there to be about thirty years old with a medium build and very well toned muscles. Even at attention she seemed poised for an attack. She wore the new style uniform used on tactical missions, brown uniform style pants and ribbed overshirt with all-terrain boots instead of the spit and polish black dress boots. Underneath the overshirt she wore a white turtleneck indicating she was in command of her division. She also wore the standard black uniform belt with Starfleet insignia buckle and a uniform pin on her chest.

"Major Shawn Carlson, sir." She said sternly after noticing the Captain. She stood rigidly as she looked straight ahead. Everything about her was military, the way she spoke, the way she moved, and even dressed. Her uniform was perfect, every crease, every line. Even her soft chestnut hair was pulled tightly back into a perfect bun.

McCarthy stepped forward. "At ease, _Major_?" He questioned, turning to Seward.

"Yes, sir. Major Carlson is the head of the Marine Division. We have forty-five on board. I thought you might like to see their training area."

McCarthy smiled thinly. "Of course," He said politely. He stepped forward with his hands behind his back, the way his old geometry professor used to. McCarthy perused the console and the transparent wall that went from the console to the ceiling.

"This is the observation bay for the training area below. Part of the cargo bay has been converted to fit various scenarios. Anything from a Romulan prison to the bridge of an Orion battleship." Seward explained.

The Captain peered over the console to the deck below. The only light came from the intermittently flash of the red alert lights and the occasional belch of sparks from the destroyed mock consoles. McCarthy could see sooty scorch marks on the walls from the smoke and bursts of phaser fire here and there in the ruins. It was only then that the Jake could see troops hidden in among the consoles and fake bulkheads. Major Carlson slowly dimmed the light in the observation bay so they could see easier. As his eyes adjusted, McCarthy could make out the tri-colored red, blue, and green triangular symbol of the Klingon Empire painted on the walls below.

"Is any of this a hologram? I've been hearing something of advances in holographic reproduction. Could that be used here to simulate an area?" McCarthy asked, as he watched troops duck and roll away as their hiding spots were discovered.

Seward gave Carlson a nod, signaling her to respond.

"No, sir." She explained, licking her lips. "Holographic technology, at present, does not allow for an interactive simulation, which is crucial for a beneficial combat drill. In other words, you could project an image of an enemy soldier, but you would kick, punch, and fire right through it and likewise it wouldn't be able to affect the men. We use a system of drones, each approximately ten inches in diameter. They have antigrav capabilities and can fire at and receive fire from the men. When they have been hit a sufficient number of times, they log themselves as a kill."

McCarthy found himself actually becoming interested. "Well, it would seem that firing at a ten inch drone could certainly sharpen your skills when it comes to a life-size target."

"Exactly, sir." Seward replied.

As if on cue, a small, black, metallic sphere suddenly whizzed around the corner of a wall and began to fire at a marine that had secreted himself in a narrow crevice in the wall. The trooper dove out of his hiding place, firing back twice quickly from the floor. The drone immediately stopped firing and slowly descended to the deck. A red light on top began to flash, signifying it was "dead".

McCarthy nodded. "Impressive."

Major Carlson's expression never changed, she expected no less from her men, but Seward smiled.

"Well, if you're ready, sir?" Seward asked. McCarthy agreed and thanked the Major for allowing them to watch.

The two men caught the lift just as it was closing and headed forward and up a few more decks. Seward led the way again, heading down a short corridor to another security door. McCarthy stopped in front of the door as Seward went to the terminal along side and entered his code. As the security doors began to part, McCarthy saw the white flash of an object flying straight at his head at blinding speed. Out of instinct more than anything else, he shot a hand up and snatched it out of the air, surprising himself. Turning it over in his hand he saw that it was round and white with a covering that was stitched together forming a never-ending loop around it. It was a baseball.

"Whoa! Did you see that? I can't believe it!" From inside the emense bay a young man came jogging over. He was dark skinned and wore a white turtleneck and black vest that had become so popular with engineering personnel for their equipment. McCarthy also noticed the old-fashioned leather mitt he wore. As the man jogged toward the Captain and Seward, he remembered the antique baseball hat he had been wearing backward and quickly pulled it off.

Seward stood to one side and introduced the young man. "Captain, this is Lieutenant Commander Ernest Walker, head of our fighter pilots. Cmdr. Walker, this is Captain Jacob McCarthy, advisor to the mission."

Walker shook off the glove and extended his hand.

"Sir," Walker started. "Please, I am so sorry. I was trying to teach Shor to throw a curve." He pointed to the other side of the large hanger bay where a lanky Andorian stood. McCarthy could tell the Andorian had a lot to learn about baseball since he had the mitt crammed on the wrong hand.

"No harm done." McCarthy said, tossing Walker the ball with a smile.

"I'm trying to find a new second baseman. Our old one was transferred, but it won't matter if we can't find someone to play against." Walker explained.

McCarthy's brow furrowed. "Why can't you?" He asked. McCarthy thought everyone needed a hobby on board, and this one sounded like fun.

Seward answered McCarthy instead. "Well, to begin with the types of missions this ship is assigned to, we're gone for long periods at a time. Also, we can't just hail the nearest ship and ask them to play."

McCarthy nodded. "True. I hadn't thought about it like that."

"Speaking of hailing a ship, have you been able to get a hold of the_ Nevada_, sir?" Walker asked expectantly.

Seward raised his hands in his own defense. "Believe me, Ernie, I tried but Captain Fedder said they got their orders and were warping out to the outer rim."

Walker shrugged. "I half expected that. Maybe we can get a second team out of _Arizona's_ crew." He turned a hopeful look to McCarthy. "How 'bout it, sir? Care to play? You've got a great catch."

McCarthy chuckled. "Maybe. Right now I'd like to see your fighters."

"Right, sir. Just let me put my mitt away." Walker trotted over to some lockers near the door as McCarthy and Seward began to stroll around the bay.

"The _Nevada ,_isn't she another ship in the Black Fleet?" The Captain asked.

"Yes," Seward began to explain. McCarthy noticed that he used his hands a lot as he talked. "She's one of the five that are _Arizona_ class; the _Nevada_, the _West Virginia_, the _Utah_, the _Oklahoma_, and the _Arizona_. The new _Oklahoma_ only recently left dry-dock after being rebuilt."

"I seem to remember hearing that the _Arizona_ recently had some major repairs too." McCarthy started.

Seward nodded. "Yeah," he sniffed a laugh as he thought about it. "We had to be towed back to a Starbase."

McCarthy's brow rose in surprise. "I didn't hear about that."

"I'm not surprised you hadn't, we were on a heavily-classified mission. We lost a warp nacelle and had a hull breach on most of the Engineering deck. Lost thirty people down there alone." Seward said.

McCarthy felt uncomfortable suddenly, like he was intruding on Seward's memories of those people. He had lost friends before, but not like this.He could only guess what kind of a mission they were on to lose so much. He was relieved to see Walker heading back in their direction.

"If you're ready, sir, I'll show you around the flight deck."

"Lead the way." McCarthy replied eagerly.

McCarthy and Seward followed Lt. Walker as he walked ahead, pointing out things of interest. "This is where we keep the one-man fighters." Walker swept a hand in the direction of three neat rows of small craft, each with its wings folded up and back to make room for storing. "Each fighter is capable of warp 1.5 and is coated with a substance that refracts and deflects sensors so they can fly almost completely undetectable."

As Walker spoke, McCarthy placed a hand on the nose of one of the craft nearest to him. The sleek, pointed bodies of the ships looked as fragile as snowflakes, but McCarthy could make out the small, menacing weapons ports on either side.

"How many are there?" McCarthy asked.

"Twenty, sir. And we have twenty-five pilots. We're actually in part of the 'neck' that connects the saucer section with the main engineering section, so we have the two doors direct to the outside. We can have a squadron of ten fighters manned and ready to launch in five minutes." Walker said proudly.

"A record Commander Walker is always trying to break." Seward added. Walker smiled. McCarthy was impressed.

"Good work, Commander. Thank you." He said. Walker thanked him and returned to his office as the two men left.

Seward led McCarthy to a nearby lift. Once inside, the Captain sagged against the back wall, trying to cover a huge yawn.

"When was the last time you slept, sir?" Seward asked.

He glanced at his wrist chronometer as he replied. "I'm not sure," he said in mid-yawn. "This thing's still on 'Frisco time." He smiled tiredly. Tapping the face of the timepiece twice, it aligned itself with _Arizona's_ onboard clock.

Seward paused the lift and changed the destination to stop back at the Captain's quarters.

"It's still over five hours until we reach the Starbase. Go ahead and get some sleep."

McCarthy thought it over and acquiesced "Alright," he replied. He was exhausted, but he hated to admit it, especially with so many thoughts swimming in his head. Maybe some sleep would help put it into order. Before he knew it, the lift gently bumped to a halt and the doors parted.

"Pleasant dreams." Seward said.

McCarthy thanked him as he started out of the lift and down the hall toward his cabin. He had found the cabin assigned to him to be quite spacious and comfortable, the short time he had seen it.

The whole room, walls and carpet, were in light earth tones with large pill-shaped windows commanding a beautiful vista of space as _Arizona_ warped along. The room had a large sitting area with a sofa, eating area and computer terminal. A sliding door separated it from the bedroom where a large double bed awaited him. Unclasping his uniform jacket as he kicked off his boots, he sat on the edge of the bed, surprised at the thickness of the mattress. Tossing his jacket in a nearby chair and laying back, he was soon asleep.

After dropping McCarthy off at his cabin, Commander Seward decided to head for his own and relax. After a long, wide-armed stretch just inside the door, he saw his bag still sitting unpacked on his bed. Eyeing it fondly as he walked over, he remembered he hadn't gotten the chance to perform his usual ritual with his belongings. He never carried much with him, wherever he went, but what he did had special meaning for him. Opening his bag, he tossed out a few articles of clothing and some personal care items until he got to a small bundle wrapped in iridescent blue-green cloth in the center.

Centering all his attention on it, he carefully reached in and withdrew the bundle, transferring it to one hand as he unwrapped it with the other. Once revealed, the object within turned out to be a woman's hairclip, made from a metal not known on Earth. It seemed to change color as he held it in the light, much like the cloth. After studying its graceful curves for a moment, Seward turned and walked it over to the three built-it wall shelves near his bed. Made out of clearsteel, the shelves allowed light from above to shine down on treasured possessions.

Stepping back, he made sure the hairclip laid just right in the light, then headed to his work area, leaving the rest of his things spread across his bed. Getting himself a strong cup of coffee, he sat down at his desk and called up the mission briefing and began to read.

**Chapter 7**

After stopping by the ship's armory for his phaser, Seward walked into the transporter room last. It had been almost six hours since he had dropped McCarthy off at his cabin for some rest. They had just arrived at Starbase 119 and, as everyone feared, there were still no answers to their hails.

Norwood ordered Commander Seward to prepare his team. He was glad to see they had beaten him here.

He went into the anteroom to get a helmet for his environmental suit, then joined the others on the pads.

"Everyone here?" He asked, glancing to each of them as he twisted the helmet into place and activated the suit's stasis field. It was hard making out faces through the tinted environmental helmets so he checked nameplates on the suits and did a mental check off. Dr. Joseph Blackbear stood to Seward's right. Behind him was Lieutenant Commander David Peters, Security Chief, and two of his guards, Ensigns Nemec and Cronkwright.

Peters was new and unknown to Seward. All he knew was the man was from England, stubborn in his duty, and a stickler for perfection. After his transfer to the _Arizona_ he redesigned the whole security department, making it more efficient than Seward had seen.

The younger officers, Heather Cronkwright and Donald Nemec, were the typical junior officers that seemed to be constantly changing and being transferred. Seward always tried to get to know each one, even if it was only learning their name, but his duties kept him too busy to learn anything more. A fact he regretted.

Seward assured that everyone's phaser was set to stun and nodded to the lieutenant behind the transporter console. He nodded back an acknowledgement and began the transporter process.

Seward's vision began to cloud and grow hazy, then bright sparkles of light danced like happy children before his eyes. He felt the constraint of being gripped in the transporter signal, then, as sudden as it all came on, it was gone and he found himself in a darkened corridor of Starbase 119. He could just make out the signage on the opposite wall, indicating a transporter room down the hall.

"Alright," Seward began, getting his bearings. "Spread out. Commander Peters, Dr. Blackbear, take the transporter room. Ensigns Nemec and Cronkwright, check these cabins further down the corridor. I'm going to do some scouting around."

Each pair acknowledged him and went off, the clanking footfalls of gravity boots echoing away from him. Seward made his way in the opposite direction trying to recall the Starbase map he looked over before they arrived. If his memory served correctly, there should be a turbolift down this corridor. With his handlamp he made short work of finding the lift, but without power it wouldn't respond to Seward's command codes. He pried open an access panel nearby trying to find the manual release and get the doors open. He had just popped the seal on the doors and was about to pry them open when his helmet communicators chirped.

"Seward here." He replied, stopping working to listen, watching his light play across the crystals of frozen vapor floating in the air.

"_Commander Peters, sir." _He didn't have to identify himself, the accent gave him away immediately. _"We've got somethin' in the transporter room I think you should see." _The security chief explained.

"I'll be right there," Seward closed the channel and started back down the black corridor. Nemec and Cronkwright were just coming out of one of the cabins they had been searching.

"Anything?" Seward asked hopeful.

Nemec, a quiet, tall and lanky man in his mid-twenties with a shock of bright red hair shook his head and let his partner answer.

Cronkwright, who had a little more experience than Nemec, reholstered her phaser as she reported. "We've searched two cabins so far. Except for some blood in one of the lavatories we haven't found anything, sir." She was a shorter, heavier-built woman with long brunette hair always worn pulled back.

Seward nodded as he listened. "Alright, the chief has something in the transporter room. Let's head that way."

He led the way down the hall to where the transporter room doors had been forced open. Cautiously stepping in, they saw the indistinct forms of Commander Peters and Dr. Blackbear in the darkness behind the control console. Peters noticed them and stepped from behind the clear booth that enclosed the console.

"What's up, Chief?" Seward took a step forward.

"Well, sir, see for yourself." Peters pointed his handlamp at the clear front of the booth. From Seward's position, the only thing he could see was the reflection of Peters' lamp. Taking another step he froze in his tracks. Slumped over his console was the transporter technician. He was a young man, Terran as far as Seward could tell, or at least he had been. The side of his face rested on the console, with the eyes open staring out at Seward in a paroxysm of fear. It looked as if all the tiny blood vessels in his eyes had burst giving them a dark red, almost demonic appearance. The young man's mouth was a gaping hole, open in a silent scream. A tiny rivulet of blood had run out of his mouth and across the console to drip on the deck before it had dried. As he got closer, Seward could see the blood vessels in his face and neck had also burst.

"Jesus," Nemec muttered behind him. Seward was surprised to hear the man moved to words. Cronkwright looked away and began absently inspecting the transporter pads. Seward didn't blame her.

"He looks like he's been exposed to a vacuum. How long has he been dead?" The Commander looked to Dr. Blackbear, still examining the body.

Blackbear straightened and shook his head within his helmet. "Can't tell for sure, without an autopsy." His deep baritone voice sounded tinny through the helmet speaker. "As cold as it is in here, measuring body temperature would be moot." He explained somberly as he put his tricorder away and reached for his communicator.

Seward stepped forward. "Alright, make whatever arrangements you need to beam the body back to the ship. We need to know what exactly killed these people and if its still a threat, pronto."

Blackbear stopped before he activated the communicator in his helmet. "I will send the body back to Sickbay and have Dr. Miller start the autopsy. I can remain and take some readings."

"Good, let me know what you find." Seward then turned to Peters. "Chief, you and Nemec see if you can get down to the Engineering section and restore power. I found a stalled liftcar nearby. Hopefully we can use the emergency ladders to get around. Cronkwright and I will head for the command center to see if we can get the station's logs up and see what the hell happened here."

"Right-o, sir." Peters acknowledged. "Come on, you." He gave Nemec a hearty slap on the back that almost knocked the scrawny man down and led the way out into the corridor, business as usual.

Leaving the Doctor with the body, Seward turned to head out.

"Well, lets go." Seward led Cronkwright back down the corridor to the stalled lift. With her help, they pried open the doors and were able to get inside. Silently, Cronkwright was thankful the lift car was empty. With help up, she shoved the lift's access hatch open and climbed out onto the top of the car. Resting one knee on the roof, she snapped on her handlamp.

"Deck 12," She breathed as she read the sign on the side of the lift shaft. Seward jumped up through the access hole and pulled himself onto the roof. He turned on his hand lamp and scanned the sides of the shaft, finally pointing the lamp upwards. Instead of seeing the top, his beam was swallowed up by the darkness.

"Well, ready for a climb?" Seward asked staring upwards. He stood and walked over to the ladder, ready to start.

"If I may, sir, security first." Cronkwright replied in her most business-like tone. After a moment, Seward agreed and stepped off the first rung.

Cronkwright began climbing, wearing her handlamp pointed upward on her wrist to light their way. As Seward climbed, he began to notice the biting cold seeping into his gloves from the metal rungs.

"We've got to keep moving and stay warm. This cold metal will suck the heat right out of us."

Cronkwright looked down long enough to respond. "Aye, sir." and kept climbing.

**Chapter 8**

Having beamed the body of the transporter tech directly to the Sickbay morgue, Dr. Blackbear sent word that the autopsy was to get started right away. The on duty physician, Dr. Dan Miller prepared the morgue immediately. He watched through a clearsteel partition of his office wall as the body materialized onto an exam table in the morgue next door, shimmering with frozen vapor. As he turned back to his computer terminal, he couldn't help but shiver himself.

"Computer, raise Sickbay temperature two degrees." The computer, activated by his verbal cue gave a beep and he could feel the soft whisper of the air system kick on. Going over the log entry, he filled in the appropriate information and was just finishing as Nurse T'Lan came to his office door.

"Doctor," her lilting voice was almost a whisper. "We are ready for you, sir." She wore a cream-colored biohazard uniform indicating she had probably volunteered to take part in the autopsy. Miller was impressed but not surprised. T'Lan was very young for a Vulcan to be away from home and pursuing a career, but she had excelled in her abilities as a healer and quickly surpassed her Vulcan classmates. Her parents felt the only logical choice was to send her to Starfleet Academy for her to get as diverse an education as possible.

"OK, Nurse, thank you. I'll be there in a moment." She politely nodded and headed for the morgue. Miller sat in his chair a second longer and watched as T'Lan removed the dead man's uniform revealing a badly bruised body, contemplating what the young man must have went through. Sighing heavily, he stood and followed the nurse.

The outer examination of the transporter tech's body had yielded nothing. Miller looked over the young man, making notes in the log that it looked as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life. He made comments as he went through his examination, taking readings and samples as T'Lan recorded it all. As Miller began to open the chest, she leaned in closer, fascinated by what she saw.

"It appears he bled to death internally." Her voice was muffled by the bio-mask tht covered her head.

Miller wasn't so surprised. As he began to check the internal organs individually, he noticed T'Lan had gotten closer, intrigued. He allowed her to assist, turning each organ over to her to dissect after he had removed and weighed them. The work went smoothly, Miller was near completion when it happened.

"T'Lan, please make sure the lab gets large enough samples of all tissues. I want a complete work-up on everything." He ordered. He looked up when she didn't answer. "T'Lan, are you all right?" She had moved away and was leaning against the wall of the morgue. Miller knew immediately something was wrong with her and hurried to her. Vulcans don't lean. He came around the table and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and she turned to face him.

"Maybe this has been too much for you." Miller couldn't believe a Vulcan could look that pale.

"No, sir. It is not that." She replied in a little voice. She held her left hand in her right, holding it out for him to see, almost too embarrassed to speak. Miller saw a small scorched hole in her glove where she had nicked herself with a laser scalpel. She had been exposed.

Miller tried not to panic as he led her toward the decontamination room and from there directly into an ICU room next door to not risk contaminating any of the rest of Sickbay. "Come on, I'll take you into a room. You can rest there." he said quickly.

She did not feel she needed to rest, but she wouldn't argue with a superior officer, and instead let him take her by the arm to a diagnostic bed.

"Okay, lets have a look now." He said trying to stay calm as he tore off his headpiece and threw it carelessly onto the floor. He gently helped her detach her suit's headpiece and tossed it on the desk. As she looked up at him, T'Lan could read the shock on the human doctor's face as easily as text on a computer screen. Dr. Miller could only stare at her as he watched a tiny green blood vessel in her eye begin to rupture.

Cronkwright and Seward continued climbing in silence, with Seward concentrating on the numbness growing in his fingers. He could hear Cronkwright beginning to breathe harder above him. Telling her to take a break as they passed the sign for Deck 7, he stopped and pulled out his handlamp. He fumbled trying to turn it over and switch it on with his numb hands. It felt as if he had two pairs of gloves on, both of them on the wrong hand. He tried to wrap a leg around the ladder's rail as he cupped the light to his body to keep from dropping it, but his fingers refused to cooperate. The light tumbled out of his grasp.

"Damn it!" He hissed as he watched it plummet into the darkness. He winced as he heard it smash against the roof of the lift car far below.

Cronkwright couldn't help but smirk as she looked down.

"Just hold onto yours." He grumbled at her as they continued to climb. After another hour of climbing, they finally reached the first level of the command center. Cronkwright pulled open the computer access, but without power it was useless. With Seward's help they were able to release the manual catch of the doors and climb onto the command deck. Standing in front of the lift doors, illuminated by the hazy circle from Cronkwright's light, they tried to get their bearings. The command center was completely black, silent as a tomb. The emergency lights had long since exhausted their battery power.

"The Operations station should be over there." Seward pointed off into the darkness on Cronkwright's left. "I'll try to make it to the Engineering console."

Cronkwright nodded. "Right, sir. Be careful." She warned as she headed for what she hoped was the Ops station.

Seward smiled and slipped into the darkness out of her sight. He moved cautiously between the duty stations, down a narrow isle, and toward, he hoped, the engineering station. For safety's sake, he sidestepped along, supporting himself on the cold consoles as he went. Seward tripped only once, stumbling over what felt like a sack of clothing, but in the darkness and with his bulky suit on, he couldn't make it out. He tumbled forward into a console, activating it by accident. It sprang to life with a flash of light, blinding him for a second, then winked off, struggling to power up. Seward got to his feet and tried to read the panel as it flashed at him again. By pure luck he had fallen onto the Engineering console.

"Well, I found what I was looking for." He just wasn't going to say exactly how he found it. "How's it going over there?"

Cronkwright cleared her throat across the room. "I think I found it, sir, I just can't access it. There's no power to this station." Even as she spoke, every light in the room flashed on. Seward winced in the sudden glare, then looked around as his eyes adjusted. Across the room, Cronkwright sat at the Operations console. She dropped her arm from her face shield then sprang out of her chair as she caught site of something next to her on the floor.

Seward jumped the three steps up to the command level and rounded the console on a dead run. Sitting on the deck, propped against the Ops console sat the body of the Starbase's commander, Commander Jack Xavier. Seward recognized him from the mission briefing, but he hadn't looked like this.

A crust of dried, frothy blood clung to the man's chin like a maroon beard. His uniform collar had been shredded and his throat had been deeply scratched and gouged. Both of his hands, contorted into claws, rested on his chest. Bits of skin and blood covered the fingernails as if he had dug out his own throat in a painful death spasm. His face and eyes bruised deep purple just like the Transporter tech they found earlier. The console behind him sat patiently waiting for him to enter the last character of his access code before it opened all the station's airlocks, blowing everything out into space.

Looking over the command center, Seward saw other members of the senior staff had also met similar ends, choosing to die at their posts. The sack of clothing he had tripped over turned out to be the body of an engineering officer.

"I'm sorry, Commander, that caught me off guard." Cronkwright said, chastising herself for jumping up. Security was supposed to be ready for anything.

"It's all right, Ensign." Seward told her calmly. "Well, looks like Nemec and the Chief got the power up." Cronkwright nodded as she surveyed the other stations powering up around them, trying to calm her breathing. One station in particular caught Seward's attention, each display screen flashing the same image.

"I think that's the Science Station, sir." Cronkwright said as they walked over, staring at the half a dozen viewscreens. Each of the screens, large and small, showed the same ominous, frozen image.

**Chapter 9**

USS Arizona_, Captain's Log, Stardate: 9804.12 All teams have beamed back to _Arizona_ from their investigation of the Starbase. Dr. Blackbear has confirmed that the virus is still present on the Starbase although none of the boarding party show signs of infection. Because of an accident Sickbay, the Vulcan nurse T'Lan and Dr. Dan Miller have been exposed and are being treated in quarantine. _

"So, what do we know?" Norwood asked as he sat in the briefing room with Commander Seward and Captain McCarthy. Dr. Blackbear was on the briefing room viewscreen, listening in from Sickbay.

"Both my nurse and Dr. Miller show signs of the infection. It would appear the virus is still active, however, the rest of the ship is unaffected because of the dedicated air system for Sickbay. Both are in quarantine. Dr. Miller is doing well considering, however T'Lan is in a coma and on a respirator." Dr. Blackbear sighed heavily. "I do not believe she will live through the night. My only concern is there is no other Vulcan aboard this ship trained to accept her _katra_." he said. McCarthy's brow rose. He was surprised at the doctor's concern for the young woman's spiritual well being as well as her physical.

Norwood looked genuinely pained. It was the first time McCarthy had seen him drop the gruff exterior. "I'm sorry, Doctor. Let me know if there is anything else you need." He said quietly.

Blackbear nodded solemnly.

"What else can you tell me about the virus itself?" the Captain asked, back to business.

"It seems to act like the earth disease Hemorrhagic Fever. It attacks the walls of the blood vessels and capillaries and breaks them down. Anyone infected becomes lethargic, anemic, and eventually drowns in their own blood. This virus has been engineered not only to last longer without a host, but also to mutate rapidly and attack any species. Given the chance it could kill an entire planet." Dr. Blackbear ran a small towel across his damp forehead and tossed it down, disgusted at the situation.

"Thank you, doctor." Norwood replied somberly. He then turned to Seward. "What did you find on the base?"

Seward called up the same image on the viewscreen that was on the starbase science station terminals. "The base logs show the independent ship _Aurora_ made a stop three days ago. As far as we can figure, any infection came from them. This virus acts too quickly and no other ship had been to the base for a month prior to that. We also found the base Commander sitting in front of the Science station and an image of the _Aurora _on all the screens as if he was trying to leave us a last message."

Norwood nodded in agreement. "Alright, tell me about the _Aurora, _then."

"She's a small cargo vessel, crew of a dozen or so." McCarthy explained. "A private vessel, covers this area ferrying goods and supplies from base to base along the Zone. She goes from one end to the other then back to the beginning.. Her itinerary puts her in route to Starbase 101. She's got a two-day head start but her top speed is only warp three."

Norwood tensed. "We've got to stop her from getting there." He stated gravely. Keying the intercom, he spoke with Lt. Ramie on the Bridge. "Set course for Starbase 101, warp 7. Have Federov try raising the private ship _Aurora _which is en route there and have them stand down. Then call ahead and alert the Starbase to warn off the _Aurora_ until we get there. Under no circumstances is anyone from the _Aurora _allowed to beam off the ship. They are to fire on it, if they have to." Norwood closed the channel as he stood. As he strode out the door, the others had to hurry to catch up.

Only a short time later at the bridge, the lift car opened to release Captain Norwood with McCarthy and Seward close behind.

"Anything?" The Captain snapped tensely, heading for the command chair.

Ramie had left the chair as soon as she heard the lift doors puff open. She smoothly slid into her chair at the helm while she filled the Captain in.

"Negative, sir. We are on course for Starbase 101, holding at warp seven. They have been warned about the _Aurora,_ and I had to tell them twice that they needed to take it seriously if someone tried to beam over, but they did raise shields. However, no response from the _Aurora, _sir."

Norwood swiveled toward the science station. Seward was already there, anxiously looking over the young tech's shoulder. The Commander answered Norwood's question before he even asked it. "No sensor contact yet, sir."

Norwood turned back to the viewscreen, his eyes hunting the starfield, his hands busy cracking his knuckles. For a few tense minutes, no one spoke. McCarthy watched the rhythmic motions of Lt. Federov at her station, repeatedly trying to raise the little starship.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Science officer sit upright with a start. "Sir!" Seward turned back to the Science station. "We've got the ship on long range, Captain. Cruising at warp two. Registration beacon confirms it's the _Aurora_, and sir, it's on a direct course with Starbase 101."

Norwood turned on Federov. "Any contact?"

The young woman shook her blonde head. "No, sir, they are not responding. I have contacted Starbase 101 and warned them. They have been trying to raise them also with no luck. They say the ship is thirty minutes from them and they are going to red alert."

Seward still stood behind the Science station's chair. "Any life signs on board the _Aurora?_"

Having already started the scan, Ens. Brenner, the young man at the Science station, shook his head as he studied the readout. "It's hard to tell, sir. I don't read as many life signs as there should be, but she's an old ship and the engines aren't finely tuned, they may be throwing off my readings." Seward bent over the station, helping the young man sort it out.

Seward straightened. "I'm only showing three life signs. All weak, all coming from central areas. It looks like the bridge is dead. No signs of life."

McCarthy stepped down the two stairs, walking toward the command chair. "They may have been overcome by the virus. If so she'll crash into the Starbase if we don't get her stopped." He pointed out.

Seward turned and rested both hands on the bridge rail. "We need to beam over and find out what happened, or at least secure the ship."

Norwood stood. "Agreed."

Minutes later found Seward again with a team assembling in the transporter room. Dr. Blackbear and Captain McCarthy both volunteered. Lieutenants Davis and Aardema and Ensign Chipman, all from Security, rounded out the group. Lt. Berg, at the controls, was in direct contact with the bridge.

"Helm, you'll have to match exact course and speed with the _Aurora _and keep the same distanceLet Lt. Berg in the transporter room know when you're ready." Norwood leaned back in his chair, watching his bridge crew perform.

"_Standing by, Lieutenant_." Berg advised from the transporter room.

Seward's team waited tensely on the platform for the Helm to give the go ahead for a safe transport. Seward could feel the sweat on the back of his neck trickling down under his suit in cold trails.

For a few long moments, it seemed nothing was happening. Once a clear spot on the _Aurora _was located, _Arizona _would have to keep the exact same distance to it. If the speeds of both ships were not perfectly matched, the boarding party could rematerialize inside a wall or floor. Berg watched the helm readouts on his terminal, waiting for them to line up. Once they matched, he paused until Werner gave him confirmation from the helm.

"Aye, sir, energizing now." Berg, a young human male with dark hair and light blue eyes, seemed best at the transporter console. He operated the controls with the ease of long familiarity, even for his young age. Watching his display more than the officers on the pads, he knew at once when the trouble began.

"Sir!" He called over the open channel to the bridge. "_Aurora _shows a decrease in speed!"

Back on the bridge, Werner's hands flew back to his console. "Confirmed, Captain. I'm trying to compensate for the change."

Norwood faced the Science station. Ens. Brenner was already bent over his display.

"I'm reading a fluctuation in power. I think she's blown a power relay."

"Transporter room, can you get them back?" Norwood stood, waiting impatiently as he questioned Berg. "Lieutenant?"

_"Sorry, sir. A little busy down here." _Another pause. _"Yes, sir, I've got them held in transport. I'll bring them back and once the ship stabilizes, we can try again." _

Norwood shot a glance to at Brenner, who shook his head. "Belay that Berg, we may not get a better chance. The ship is losing power as we speak. Find as wide open a space as you can and put them down. We can apologize for the rough landing later."

Berg raised his brow at the dangerous request, but he felt up to the challenge. "I'll do my best, sir." Rescanning the _Aurora_, he found a cargo bay and set the controls. Hoping for the best he advised the bridge he was energizing.

Caught in the tingling sparkles of the transporter beam, Seward felt as if hundreds of insects were crawling across his flesh. Held fast in the beam, he was powerless to brush them off or even move his head. Floating in a disorienting swirl of light, he wondered if it was taking longer to complete transport or if it was just his confused senses. As a few more hour-long seconds passed he felt an urge to panic, that something must have gone wrong. About the time that he willed himself to try and fight the restraining effects of the transporter beam, he began to see the sparkles in front of him lessen and disperse. Features of a dark and foggy room became solid and real as the beam released him. Trying to offset the wave of dizziness, he tried to take a step forward. The floaty feeling of the beam still persisted. It wasn't until he and the rest of the party fell two feet to the deck below that he realized the floaty feeling was real. He pitched forward landing on hands and knees.

"Everyone all right?" He managed to get out. He was met with several affirmative answers and a couple of curses. "Seward to _Arizona_, what the hell was that?" He asked rubbing his left knee.

"_Sorry, Commander. The ship is having power falloffs. Concentrate on getting her stopped and then see what you can find. Let us know your progress, _Arizona _out." _Norwood replied in his crisp manner.

The team nursed a few bruises and made sure none of their equipment suffered before continuing.

"Alright, someone figure out where we are. Doctor, any readings on the air?"

Blackbear paused in his scanning. "According to the sign right in front of me, this is Cargo bay three, Deck five. The air is breathable, but without knowing if the virus is present I would suggest we keep the helmets on."

"Alright," Seward's voice echoed in the empty cargo bay as he used his hands to put actions to his words, pointing to each of them in turn. "This ship is only six or seven decks. I want two teams. Myself, the Doc and Davis will go to the bridge and work down. Aardema and Chipman, along with Captain McCarthy, will search this deck then go to the lowest deck and work up. We'll meet on deck three, where the sickbay is located, and it shouldn't take more than ten minutes. Along the way check for survivors. Be careful, this virus may still be active. Treat everything and everyone as if they were infected, even if they don't show symptoms. I don't want anyone to beam back without my prior authority. Ready? Let's go."

Seward led his team down a dim corridor, trying to find a lift. McCarthy and the second team headed down the other direction, checking rooms as they went.

Stumbling along, Seward's team found the ship strangely deserted. Being a private vessel, the Captain probably tried to get by with the minimal amount of crew to cut costs. Several rooms showed no signs of life.

McCarthy's team found themselves clomping along the open metal decks trying to be cautious as well as thorough. Without the added benefit of a well-insulated deck, their footfalls sounded hollow and echoed back at them giving the deceiving appearance of someone else walking far off. Checking signs on the rusted walls of the ship, the team finally found the antiquated lift and crammed inside. Like most things here, it was made for practicality not comfort. It was barely large enough for two people let alone the three of them in bio-suits. McCarthy had to hold the 'down' button in to get the car to move, and there was no lateral movement. The shaft was probably the only one on board.

"I doubt anyone would be down here." Chipman said, glancing around after the lift doors opened. The lowest deck of the _Aurora_ was simply a round room with the shaft in the middle of the floor. It was used for waste storage, although the three of them didn't need signage to tell that.

"Well, take a quick look around and let's get out of here." McCarthy said, breathing through his mouth while heading one way around the lift. Lt. Aardema headed the other way peering around and under the large tanks. Ens. Chipman stood in the doorway of the lift to make sure they car didn't leave without them.

Seward's team found the tiny bridge deserted, except for one body. It appeared to be a male, although Blackbear wasn't sure about mixed heritage. He showed all the signs of having suffered from the virus just as the Starbase crew had. Seward's team actually had to use a plasma torch to cut the seal off the lift doors into the bridge. It seemed that whoever the unfortunate victim was, the crew panicked, thinking they were safe if they barricade him in the bridge to die alone. Looking over the small terminals on the bridge they finally were able to get the ship stopped and the struggling engines powered down.

Moving down to the second deck, they found cramped quarters where the crew packed in when they weren't working. Only one bunk showed an occupant, but it was too late. Blackbear shook his head, straightening and putting away his tricorder.

Coming out of the lift on level three, the trio stopped as they heard the clang of a boot on the rungs of the three-sided ladder just across from the turbolift. Crawling into view, McCarthy and Aardema stepped onto the deck and stood aside as a straggling Chipman joined them.

"Anything?" Seward questioned. Three headshakes greeted him as the other team caught their breath from the climb.

"Nothing." McCarthy confirmed.

Seward glanced from the front of the deck to the rear. "Alright. Sickbay is the front half of this deck. We need to check that out, then move to the engineering section in the back. If we can't find anyone we can help, we set the self-destruct and get out. Understood?" A few nods and Seward started off, leading the way to the Sickbay.

Owing to the size of the Sickbay, Captain McCarthy's team held back while Seward led his team in to check it for survivors. As the tiny door panel to the Sickbay opened, they saw Lt. Davis, last in line, recoil at whatever she saw inside. McCarthy could only see a strange green glow from the dimly lit compartment Inching cautiously, the three officers entered the Sickbay, Blackbear in the middle, constantly scanning as they went along. After Davis finally crammed herself inside the bay, the door hissed shut, closing them in.

It was then that McCarthy sighed. "Glad we're out here," he said. Suddenly another door on the opposite side of the room slid open, revealing Seward, his phaser in one hand, his other hand trying to cover the filter screen on his helmet. He came out quickly and side stepped to let the others past.

McCarthy straightened. He had expected them to come back out the same entrance. Looking at both entrance and exit, he realized the room was a semi-circle and the team had entered one end and come out the other.

Blackbear sagged against the wall, while Davis paced nervously for a second then bent over, hands on her knees, panting.

"No survivors," Blackbear's ragged breath sounded over the suit communicator. He took a deep breath of clear air. "Everyone in there is a loss."

McCarthy realized that they must have been holding their breath in there.

"If…," Davis blurted out in a breath. "If we can smell it, does that mean the suit is leaking?" She said in a rushed panic.

Seward could see Dr. Blackbear's headshake within his suit. "No, we are fine. Some smells are strong enough to get through the filters though."

Seward took one last breath and steeled himself. "Engineering," he said pointing and leading the way. He stopped within the open door and faced the group. "If this is like the Sickbay, we aren't all going to fit. The Captain and I have the engineering know-how, the rest of you can stay by the door." Seward said. He stood off to the side, letting Dr. Blackbear take a quick scan.

"Nothing," Blackbear reported and then moved to permit McCarthy to enter. Seward stepped inside and up to a tiny console and pointed McCarthy to a status display board behind him before the door shut. Blackbear moved from the exit and waited near the lift. Lt. Davis, glad to be out of the Sickbay, stood with him.

Tensely, she waited for them to come back out of the engineering room. After she caught herself checking her wrist chrono for a second time, she prepared herself to go in after them just as the door slid open.

"Okay, lets get the hell outta here. I can't guarantee this thing won't overload before we want it to. Into the lift, we need to get away from the engine core to beam out." Seward hustled Dr. Blackbear, Davis and Aardema into the lift. "Send the car back as soon as you're out. Get back into the cargo hold and alert _Arizona_ to be ready." He ordered before the rusty door clanked shut.

Listening to the labored mechanism of the lift crawling upward, McCarthy wondered if they left themselves enough time to get out. Seconds dragged past, until they heard the lift drop, almost by gravity alone.

"Chipman, Captain, your next." Seward beckoned them forward as the door opened. McCarthy and the last man squeezed inside, the suits and Chipman's extra padding not helping. "Chipman," Seward barked. "When we get back," he grunted, shoving the larger man in. "...you're going on a damn diet!"

Taking a deep breath, McCarthy squeezed closer to the bulky control box sticking out of the lift wall. The extra room allowed Chipman to wedge in. Just as McCarthy reached across himself for the door button, he saw the far sickbay door slide open.

Staggering out into the room, he watched a crewmember, stricken with the virus, hobbling on weakened legs toward Seward. The Captain couldn't even make out the man's race, his face was so blotched and bruised from the virus. Blood red eyes stared evilly at Seward's back. A crust of dried blood coated the side of his face as if he laid in a pool of it as it coagulated. Nerveless lips twitched, spasming in stabs of pain, trying to form mindless words while more blood ran down the being's face and dripped off the chin. One arm was kept close to his body, folded in like a bird shields a wounded wing, while the other raised up in painful jerks. Gripped in his bruised fist was a knife of sorts, glinting sharpness on the one edge, large jagged teeth down the other.

"Commander!" McCarthy yelled trying to move his arm pinned to the wall. He jerked his head behind Seward as he used his other arm as a sledge to knock the control box off the wall. The thing had gotten too close, and as Seward turned, he could only grip the arm in both hands and brace himself to fight back the downward thrust. Locked together, the two were frozen in place, Seward holding back the deathblow while the thing fought against him with an adrenalin-fueled attack.

Captain McCarthy, finally freeing his arm, shoved a dumbfounded Chipman back out of the lift and raised his phaser. Even as he fired he could see the two combatants beginning to lean to one side. If Seward lost his balance, the brute would be able to deliver his blow. Knocked back from the shot of McCarthy's phaser, the thing reared up again in a death spasm. He stumbled a step forward and then began to crumble. Falling first to his knees and then pitching to the side he fell toward the deck with his knife still raised above his head. Just before he hit, his lifeless arm flailed to the side, toward Seward. Quickly sidestepping, the Commander couldn't get completely out of the blade's path. The knife slit through his suit leg, scoring across his flesh.

Seward's hand shot out to cover the wound. "Get in there!" He bellowed, elbowing Chipman back into the lift.

McCarthy knew his only hope was to get him back to the ship. He slammed the button to shut the doors and stabbed the button to get the lift to raise. After several agonizing minutes, the doors finally parted and he shoved Ens. Chipman out ahead of him.

"Move it, dammit! _Doctor_!" He started out the lift on a run toward the cargo bay where they first arrived. Entering the doorway, he found Blackbear with Davis and Aardema, staged for beam-out. Lt. Davis had her communicator open in readiness.

"Doctor, its Commander Seward! He was attacked," Jake panted. "His suit was damaged, cut open. He's been cut by a knife from any infected crewmember." He pointed back toward the lift. "We need to get him up here before the engines overload."

"What?" Blackbear knocked Chipman aside as he and McCarthy ran back around the corner. Just as they arrived, the lift doors opened revealing Seward, bent over holding tear in his suit closed.

"What the hell are you doing here? Get back to the cargo bay and beam out!" He barked.

"We aren't leaving you." McCarthy replied, sliding under Seward's shoulder and helping him limp from the lift. Blackbear tried to stoop and run his medical scanner over the area while trying to not get in the way.

"How does it feel?" He asked, in his deep baritone. He studied the scanner with a furrowed brow.

"Its burns." Seward said between gritted teeth as they hurried along. The three hobbled back to the cargo bay door to find Davis, Aardema and Chipman tensely waiting for them. Davis was in contact with the _Arizona._

"How long have we got?" Chipman asked nervously.

"I'm okay enough to walk, damn it!" Seward waved McCarthy and the doctor away. "Get together and beam out. Then they can beam me into an isolation area. We don't have time to debate people, this thing is about to blow!" Reluctantly, the rest of the crew stood in formation for transport. Davis sent an acknowledgement they were ready and waited.

Berg activated the transporter and brought the team home, quickly running them through a decontamination sequence while he reset and targeted the Sickbay for Seward.

"I'll meet him there." Blackbear said jumping down the steps and hurrying out the door. McCarthy and the security squad quickly shed their suits while the alert announced overhead, warning them of the _Aurora_'s destruction just before _Arizona_ was lightly buffeted by the blast.

McCarthy felt it would be best for him to find Norwood as soon as possible and report what had happened.

Less than five minutes later, Jake and the Captain stood outside the clearsteel wall, looking in on a score of medical personnel working on Seward. Almost immediately after they got him aboard he had lapsed into a coma-like state, coming out only momentarily to violently lash out at anyone and anything close by. Blackbear chose not to sedate him so he could better study the virus's progress.

"I thought you said they cleared the Sickbay." Norwood questioned McCarthy harshly.

McCarthy was brought out of his thoughts by the Captain's question as he watched the suited personnel checking Seward's symptoms and taking blood samples. "They did, sir." McCarthy began. "I can only imagine..."

"Then how the hell did this happen, Captain?" Norwood spat, stabbing his finger against the clearsteel towards Seward's prone form. Crewmembers inside jumped at the sudden thud against the window and began watching the two men outside.

McCarthy drew Norwood to the side, past the edge of the window.

"As I was saying, Captain, I can only imagine they did as thorough a check as they could. They were in a room the size of a broom closet filled with decaying bodies and hardly any light. The psychological impact alone must have been damn near unbearable." Norwood dismissed McCarthy's explanation with an impatient wave of his hand and started to turn away.

McCarthy grabbed his arm before he could turn his back. "They went in, they checked and they got the hell out, as fast as they could. That poor bastard was as good as dead."

Norwood set his jaw as he listened. "They should have been sure. They should have been prepared for what was in there."

McCarthy shook his head. "How the hell can they prepare themselves for something like that?"

Norwood turned to lean against the wall but said nothing.

McCarthy softened his tone. "I know you are worried about Seward. Blackbear is the best in this field. Trust him. If there is a way to combat this, he can find it."

Norwood sighed. Turning back to the window, he looked in at Seward who had regained consciousness. "I wish I could share your optimism, Captain." He replied bitterly as they met Seward's pained gaze at them, watching them with blood red eyes.

**Chapter 10**

_Captain's log, Stardate 10501.27 After reviewing the _Aurora's_ logs, we think we can determine where the crew became infected with the virus. For the official record, the _Aurora_ was completely destroyed as of yesterday's date, at 18:25 hours. On a personal note, regarding McCarthy, he's stepped up to the plate and surprised me as a competent, albeit temporary, first officer in Commander Seward's place. I have to admit, I appreciate him here. Regarding Commander Seward, he made it through the night, although it seems this virus works just as Dr. Blackbear predicted. He is able to combat some of the blood loss, but it seems it's a matter of time before the evitable happens_.

"A review of the _Aurora's_ logs shows that it made a stop at an installation in the Brennov system, Brennov IV to be exact. The two crewmembers who went aboard the station were two humans. Both of them were the first to complain of any symptoms related to the virus, so they had to be the first ones infected. Medical records we reviewed from Starbase 119 showed humans were originally thought to be immune because they didn't appear to develop symptoms. The truth is that humans aren't really immune, it just took longer for the symptoms to show." McCarthy explained. He sat on the comfortable couch in Norwood's quarters, giving the Captain his morning briefing.

"Then how did it develop so fast in Commander Seward's case?" Norwood asked.

McCarthy nodded his sentiment. "Exactly. That's something we will have to ask the Doctor." He said sipping his coffee.

Norwood sat mentally reviewing the information with a scowl. "How sure are you about the Brennov system?"

"It looks like the only place. It's the beginning of the _Aurora's_ supply route. Before that, it was a month since they had been anywhere. Comparing how long it takes for symptoms to start to show, it had to be Brennov."

Norwood rubbed his forehead, trying to calm the throb in his head. "Brennov, let's see." He dug the heels of both palms into his eyes as recalled the information. "In the Klingon Neutral Zone, not really claimed by either side. Mainly an ice planet."

"That's just about it, sir." McCarthy replied with a nod.

Norwood keyed the intercom for the bridge. "Set course for the Brennov system, warp three, and secure the ship for silent running." He drained his cup after closing the channel.

McCarthy sat up straight in surprise. Usually no ship was allowed to enter the Neutral Zone. Considering what he had seen so far however, he realized this ship was far from usual.

"What exactly does 'silent running' mean?" McCarthy asked.

Norwood smiled. "We can suppress just about all of the interference the ship's systems put out. Warp signature can be varied to look like anything we want and we shut down all running lights and block all ports. Basically, the only way anyone would know we were there is to look out a window."

"And the Neutral Zone treaty?" McCarthy asked, his cup still halfway to his lips.

"Can you think of a better way to investigate this and keep it from happening again?" He asked.

McCarthy had to relent, there was no other way. Suddenly, he paused in taking a bite of breakfast as he remembered something.

"Oh, and speaking of Dr. Blackbear, he did ask to see you when you were free."

"No time like the present." Norwood pushed himself away from his desk and indicated McCarthy to follow. McCarthy had to gulp down his mouthful as he tagged along, heading for the nearest lift.

"What is it, Doctor?" Norwood said, striding into Sickbay with McCarthy in tow a few minutes later.

Dr. Blackbear came from his office and leaned close to the two men.

"Its Commander Seward, sir. I think you should see him." He said in a low, concerned voice. The doctor cleared his throat and continued in a more normal baritone as he lead the way. "It would appear the virus has mutated even further. It has adapted itself to be more aggressive toward humans. It is tearing up the Commander's system faster than we can combat it. Whatever we try, the virus finds a way of fighting back." He concluded solemnly as they walked together. "I believe this adds to the theory that the virus was engineered."

He led them through the general treatment area toward the private ICU rooms.

"Is there anything you can do?" McCarthy asked.

"I have considered some radical steps." Blackbear said in reply. "His body is still fighting the infection and still suffers from bouts of delirium but he..."

"Delirium?" Norwood said, stopping suddenly.

"Yes, it's why I called you down here." Blackbear led them into the Commander's room and stood along side the bed. On the other side, a nurse was busy checking his vitals with gloved hands. She carefully placed his hand back on his chest, her hand lingering on the Commander's. She noticed McCarthy watching from the foot of the bed and quickly let go of it.

"This is Nurse Lane. She's been assigned to the Commander for this watch. Has he said anything more, Shea?" Blackbear asked.

She paused before answering as she eyed Norwood, but composed herself and replied. "A little, sir. Nothing I understood. I didn't recognize the language. It sounded like…"

"Thank you, Nurse. You may go now." The false politeness of his interrupting words did not hide Captain Norwood's sudden harshness behind them. She quickly got the hint and headed for the door. Norwood sternly watched her, making sure she was leaving.

McCarthy held out a hand, stopping her just before she got out the door.

"Just a minute. What has he been saying?" He asked.

The nurse paused and returned, avoiding Norwood's penetrating gaze. "I think it was a name, sir. He kept calling me it every time I would leave him. It sounded like '_Aidoann_' or something close to that." She answered, puzzled.

McCarthy tossed the name around in his head trying to recall if he had every heard it before, but Norwood seemed galvanized into action.

"Okay, right now, all non-essential personnel are to vacate Sickbay!" He said forcefully. "Only you and this nurse," he said jabbing at finger at Blackbear and Nurse Lane. "are to treat Commander Seward and I will be strictly holding you both to not repeat anything else you may hear him say. Captain McCarthy, I'm sorry, but this applies to you to. I'll catch up with you later." He said, securing the door to the room after shoving McCarthy out.

An hour later found McCarthy sitting in the ship's mess with the rest of the crew, still bewildered.

"He didn't offer any explanation?" Kelly Rademacher was asking him from across the table. Her fork paused mid-way to her mouth as her forehead lined.

McCarthy had been complaining to her as he joined her while she finished her late breakfast.

"No, just tossed me out of Sickbay." McCarthy replied.

"Well, I doubt he meant it as an insult. He just seems like he's not used to having to explain himself, or making sure his point gets across. He must have had good reason."

McCarthy snorted. "Yeah, he's an ass! Good enough reason for me."

Kelly put down her fork, clearly more interested in the conversation than what was dangling from it.

"I wouldn't take it personally. Besides, I am more interested in what the Commander was saying. You didn't recognize that word?" She asked.

"No," McCarthy replied with a sigh. "But the irritating part is I know I have heard it before."

Just as he restarted his train of thought about the name _'Aidoann'_, the ship's intercom blared overhead, howling along with the red alert klaxon.

"_Red alert, red alert, this is no drill. Alert status is still silent running. Captain McCarthy to the bridge please."_

He shrugged at Kelly's surprised look and headed out along with the rest of the scrambling crewmembers.

Once he exited the lift onto the bridge, no one there paid him much attention. All eyes were on the viewscreen. They had arrived at the ice planet in the Brennov system.

"Hold this position, helm." Norwood said standing. He rose and stood behind Werner and Roberta at their posts, a hand on the back of each chairs. McCarthy leaned against the outside of the bridge rail watching the screen from the side, wishing there was more he could do.

"Nothing on sensors, sir." The young Tellarite at the science station said in his raspy tone.

Norwood cocked his head to reply without taking his eyes off the screen. "Keep an eye on them Mr. Kel. I don't think we will have to wait long."

The gray, frozen world of Brennov IV slowly spun below them like a dirty snowball. Captain McCarthy didn't doubt Norwood's suspicions, at least outwardly. But he would have expected a response by now, if someone were on the planet's surface.

Kel grunted in frustration at the science station. "The planet has several dense metal deposits and scans are being deflected. I thought I picked up an energy reading but now it's gone."

Norwood nodded a non-descript acknowledgment and went back to staring at the screen, his brow furrowed. McCarthy could understand he was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong himself.

A red indicator on the helm began to flash, indicating the ship's automated defenses had detected a threat and switched on. At the same instant, Lt. Kel jerked in his chair to growl at the Captain.

"Sir, four light craft launching from the planet's surface. Targeting us."

Werner cracked a grin. Anything small enough to land on a planet were no threat to _Arizona_, at least not in his opinion.

"Don't be so sure, Mr. Werner." Came the stern voice of Norwood directly behind him. As if he could read minds, Norwood had deduced the cocksure smile on the young lieutenant's face. "They wouldn't occupy a base on an enemy world unless they were ready to defend it with more than four small fighters."

Werner stiffened. "Yes, sir." He replied quickly.

McCarthy smiled as he went up the two steps to the outer ring of the bridge and headed for the weapons console. Over the shoulder of the sandy haired young man on duty there, he watched the sensor readouts of the incoming ships. They appeared to be light attack craft, normally carried on a larger ship or stationed on the Romulan equivalent of a starbase. Crew of two men and armed with disruptors only.

"Target the lead vessel, Mr. Leigh." Norwood ordered from the young man at the Weapons station. "But hold your fire. You know the drill."

McCarthy knew from prior knowledge on the Captain that even when a battle was justified, Norwood always insisted in letting his opponent fire first.

Small fighters or not, McCarthy braced himself for the forthcoming attack as he watched the pinprick of ships coming ever closer.

Kel grunted again, causing Norwood to turn. "They have locked disrupters on us, sir. Preparing to fire." His sensitive, beady eyes squinting in the blue glow of the Science station viewer.

Turning back to the screen, McCarthy noticed the ships had sped up and broken formation. Each seemed to be taking a different route toward _Arizona, _high and low, left and right. That left the most direct route, straight at them from the middle, open.

"Still targeting the lead vessel, Captain." Lt. Zachary Leigh stated from the weapons console, tracking the ship that had now moved to the upper left side of the targeting screen. The wide-open middle of the screen, free from any attacking ships, looked ominous to McCarthy.

"I don't like this," he half muttered aloud.

Norwood glanced at him just as Kel whipped around in his chair.

"Sir! Romulan warbird decloak straight ahead!"

The Captain didn't even have time to twist back to the screen before the ship was recoiling from the sucker punch fired by the warbird. At point blank range, _Arizona _took the full effect of the plasma-like bolt fired by the Romulan. McCarthy was glad he had gripped the railing with one hand as he tried to steady himself and hold Lt. Leigh from pitching out of his chair with the other.

_Arizona_ was still quivering like a dog shaking itself dry, trying to recover from the blow. Lighting dimmed slightly on the bridge as the energy fired at her was absorbed. The four surface ships had occupied them while the warbird moved into position.

"Dammit, I hate being right!" Norwood yelled sarcastically as he picked himself up from the floor. "Leigh, target that bastard and return fire." Angrily he threw himself in the command chair as more shots impacted the ship.

"Three more warbirds decloaking, sir." Kel rasped. He launched into a coughing fit before continuing. "Port and starboard, sir. All Rhi'hansu class." He reported waving smoke away as it rose from his console with his cloven hand.

"Thanks for the good news!" Norwood replied cynically. He opened his mouth to respond more, but another shot rocked the ship, cutting him off. McCarthy felt it would have only been a curse of some kind anyway.

"Mr. Leigh! Target the closest of those smaller ships and fire at will." The Captain ordered.

Leigh nodded, targeting and sending everything he could at the little ship darting and weaving on his screen. He continued to fire at it as it swooped closer to _Arizona, _thinking it was out of range of the larger ship's weapons. But _Arizona_ was more heavily armed than most starships of her size. Side photon torpedo launchers opened surprise fire on the smaller vessel.

McCarthy cautiously made his way down the steps toward the conn. Bridge lighting had switched to emergency red as the ship tried to combat the influx of overwhelming energy and the bridge was beginning to reek more and more with the smell of melted circuitry from each new hit.

"Captain," McCarthy leaned in close. He didn't want to be overheard questioning Norwood's orders. "We are being hammered on all sides. Targeting only one ship..."

"Is better than spreading all of our firepower out over all of them and only damaging each one a little while they continue to drain us of shields and torpedoes. Relax, my boy, I've done this before." Was the curt reply. Norwood had an annoying habit of looking everywhere but at the person he was speaking to and McCarthy found it to be most irritating now. Surprisingly, Norwood quickly glanced away from the viewscreen to meet McCarthy's eyes. "Trust me, Captain." He said sincerely.

"Lead vessel destroyed, sir!" Zachary Leigh shouted from the weapons station, punching the air. "Targeting the next closest." He replied automatically. He had done this before also.

McCarthy turned back to Norwood and noticed the Captain was now sporting his own cocksure grin. He shot a smug glance at Jake just as the ship was rocked again.

Clearing his throat, Kel gruffly spoke. "Shields at 85 percent, sir." He had taken to standing at his station instead of sitting where his sensitive snout was closer to the acrid smoke spilling out of his overloaded console.

Norwood inched forward on his chair and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "I think its about time for Cmdr. Walker to begin earning his pay. Lt. Federov, contact the fighter bay. Alert them to be ready in two minutes. Mr. Leigh, I want a spread of photon torpedoes from the forward launchers, set to detonate ten thousand yards in front of the ship in a minute and a half."

Down in Sickbay, Blackbear stood by watching the readout on the diagnostic bed where T'Lan lay in the Intensive Care ward. Her chest moved with a rhythm too slow for even a Vulcan. His weary eyes searched the other readouts, hoping. Other than autonomic functions she was not displaying any signs of life. The respirator would keep her breathing, the other artificial stimuli would keep her heart beating, fire routine synapses through her nervous system, but this wasn't life. Her face had taken on a dusky gray color and looked pinched and dried like an old apple. She seemed so ancient and frail compared to the lithe and gracefully young woman she had been only yesterday.

Just outside, other crewmembers were being treated, helped to beds as soon as they came in. Injuries from the firefight were already filtering in. Other medical staff were loading up extra supplies and heading out to the remote Medical Stations located in the more distant areas of the ship.

Blackbear only allowed himself to concentrate on the display above her bed. Tired blinking gave away to realizing that his eyes burned from studying so many displays. He wiped his face and rubbed his eyes. Closing them for just a moment, he savored the stinging coolness of tears bathing his eyes.

A choked rattle from T'Lan caused them to snap open. Bending over her as she tried to cough again, he hoped to see her eyes flutter, some sign of life returning. He knew Vulcans could enter a self-induced coma to assist the body in healing itself. Darting his eyes to the readout above her, he saw there was no change in the indicators.

Turning, he grabbed for the Med-Kit on the bed next to him. Maybe something could help ease her breathing. Before he could lay his eager hands on his kit, he heard a sickening, retching noise come from the young woman. Thick, green blood vomited in a small geyser out of her mouth, spilling out over her cheeks as her body convulsed in her last moments. Recoiling against the neighboring bed, he forced himself to look at her, realizing she really was gone now. Her chest continuing to rise and fall with the life support seemed almost obscene now.

Reaching up slowly, he keyed in his security code on the diagnostic display and then gave the command for the automated systems to shut off. It beeped a solemn acknowledgement, logging in the time of death.

Stepping out of the ward, he stopped, meeting the expectant gaze of some of his staff working nearby. With a final act of duty, he reached over and turned off the room lights and equipment in the ICU. The noise in Sickbay softened as everyone realized what had happened. Bracing himself for a moment, Dr. Blackbear stood in the doorway, before he took a deep breath and headed toward his next patient.

"Sir, fighter bay advises they have been ready for now twenty minutes and were wondering what the holdup vas." Federov reported, suddenly gripping the edge of her work station. McCarthy watched perplexed until the ship rocketed from another hit a minute later.

Norwood smiled. "Tell Mr. Walker he is clear to launch as soon as he sees the signal." He replied, shouting over a hull breach alarm.

Federov turned back to her console, reinserting her earpiece and letting a wry smile dance on her lips.

Several decks down from the bridge, in the dorsal neck that connected the saucer section with the main engineering section, two large bay doors had begun to slowly slide open. Well protected behind one-way forcefields sat six sleek, one-man fighters, ready for take off, three at each door. They could see the half of a large warbird off to the side of _Arizona_ and occasionally the fleeting glimpse of a smaller attack ship as it zipped by the opened doors. As they watched, _Arizona's _phasers lanced out and caught one of the more nimble ships in the engine baffles, blowing the ship into thousands of glowing fragments. Commander Ernest Walker quickly reduced the volume on his helmet communicator as his team loudly cheered their ship on.

"All units, make sure not to launch straight out." Ernie commanded over the comm. "Allow that humpbacked whale of a shuttlecraft some room. We are just escorts. I want two units on either side. Weasel, Cowboy, you'll take port side, fore and aft respectively." He said, using the fighter pilot's code names over the air. "Outlaw and I are starboard side, fore and aft respectively. And I want Eagle and Joker bringing up the rear. Clear?" He waited until he heard five acknowledgments before continuing. "And Joker? Let's try and keep close to the package this time, alright? I don't want anymore sneak attacks on my rear like last time. I just got a haircut and I don't want to screw it up. I gotta date tonight. Okay?" He heard muted laughter over the comms of the other pilots and a deep sigh before 'Joker' responded to the teasing.

"_Yes, sir_." The young woman said with feigned irritation through her gritted teeth.

He looked over to the fighter next to him and saw Lt. Tammy Atkins, better known as Joker, lean forward to give him a non-regulation salute and an _I-owe-you_ smile. He could see her relax though as she settled back into her cockpit.

In his other ear, Ernie heard Lt. Federov advise him he had ten seconds before launching. "Okay, look sharp people. As soon as we get the signal, we launch. Once the shuttle is free and clear from the ship, we fall into formation. Questions? Didn't think so!" He said not leaving them time to ask even if they did have one.

"_Captain, we've taken a direct hit down here. Warp drive is out!_" Rademacher's voice raised in pitch as she reported. "_They keep this up and we are going to lose ...!" _She started to yell over the sound of another impact over the intercom. The transmission, that had been relaying shouts and alarms in the background, gave a sudden burst of static then cut out completely.

Norwood started to respond, but Kat shook her head, ending his rant. "Sorry, sir. Engineering just took another hit." She remembered how disconcerting other people found it if she didn't face them while she spoke. Turning to face Norwood, she continued. "Communications to the lower decks is temporarily out." She said matter of factly.

"Sir, firing torpedo spread!" Leigh's voice rang out from Weapons.

McCarthy watched the screen as a mass of orange light streaked away from the ship. At a preset point, the mass separated into six torpedoes, each programmed to explode a certain distance from the ship. Just as McCarthy began to squint his eyes in preparation for the extremely bright burst, he saw a large shuttlecraft heading out right behind the torpedoes. Now concentrating fully on the screen, he was caught completely off guard, just as the Romulans hopefully were, when the torpedoes exploded. Following through the blast cloud itself, flew the troop shuttle with the six tiny fighters surrounding it. Any enemy ships close enough to the blast were caught in it and incapacitated. Any of them that weren't close but noticed the shuttle and her escorts were blinded by the blast. Pushing their engines to the limit, the group sped off for the planet with _Arizona _picking off a Romulan ship that dared to follow.

That being the last of the smaller ships, the large starship could now concentrate on the warbirds, three of which were still a viable threat. One sat dead in the water from Leigh's targeting its engines and shields. With their smaller support craft gone the three remaining began to pound _Arizona._

"Shuttlecraft _Lincoln_ is away, sir. Escort of six fighters in formation." Kat reported.

McCarthy heard a cough through the smoky dimness of the bridge. It was Lt. Kel again. "Sir, both port warbirds are targeting the saucer section, closing in on the bridge." His raspy speech punctuated by small coughs.

"Mr. Leigh?" Norwood began.

"I'm on it, sir." Zach replied already bent over his console. "Incoming!" He announced suddenly grabbing for support. The concussion of the bolt rattled the bridge more than anything before it. Lighting failed and most consoles went black or flashed jumbles of incoherent information. Jarred off his feet, McCarthy heard a scream in the dark, but couldn't tell who or where from. He felt the deck dip sharply.

"Ow, shit!" He heard Werner mutter somewhere near his feet.

Keeping to hand and knees instead of risking falling in the dark, he felt around him for anyone that might need help. Feebly, red alert lighting returned and steadily grew as power struggled to find new and unshorted paths to the bridge. McCarthy found himself sitting on the upper section of the bridge with his feet on the lower floor. His vision seemed blurred, until he wiped his eyes and found his sleeve sticky with blood that had ran down his face. Without realizing it, he had struck his forehead on the bridge rail.

As stations began to normalize and power was returning, the ship did its best to level out. Lt. Kel's science station had suffered too much damage. He stiffly got back to his feet and cautiously found his way through debris and dislodged chairs back to his station while holding his arm. The science station began to hum with an intense electrical buzz. Kel gave the console a couple of slaps hoping to knock it back into shape, but with no effect. The stinging smoke began to pour out more rapidly.

"Kel, get away from it!" Norwood called suddenly. "Kel!" He yelled, dashing forward.

The Tellarite had begun trying to pry open the jammed console. He finally got the panel broken loose and lifted the main curved section, exposing the entire console's circuitry. The electrical buzz grew louder and a blue-white glow grew out of the center of the console's innards.

Norwood shot a hand across the railing, grabbing at the Tellarite. "I said get away from it!" He barked.

Lt. Kel backed away, glowering as he let the panel slam shut. "I could have shut it down, sir." He rasped, a little perturbed at being scorned.

Kel turned away and began angrily picking up the assorted equipment strewn around on the floor.

Norwood turned back to the screen, folding his arms haughtily. Leaning on the rail, McCarthy wiped away fresh blood on his forehead.

For the moment the warbirds seemed to be giving _Arizona_ a temporary reprieve as they swung around and prepared to attack from another angle.

Behind Norwood, there was a hollow, popping noise from the Science station. Norwood whipped around. McCarthy knew it didn't sound good, but before he could comment, the Captain elbowed him in his already sore ribs, knocking him aside. Stumbling down to his hands and knees, McCarthy was out of the danger zone as the exploding console blew out shards of itself, but he still felt a hot sting to his right ear. Unclenching his eyes, he saw more blood dripping down onto the deck. Flying shrapnel had nicked him. Rising to his knees, he saw that Lt. Kel had thrown himself flat and seemed to be uninjured. He was slowly getting up, shaking off the litter of debris sprinkled across his back. McCarthy turned to Norwood.

The Captain was still on his feet, turned away from the blast and seemed frozen in place.

Aboard the transport shuttle _Lincoln, _Major Shawn Carlson stood bent over behind the pilot's seat, studying the preliminary scans of the planet over his shoulder.

"Okay," She straightened and walked back to the rear benches where 20 of her marines sat. "Prelim scans show nothing above ground. It looks like everything is below ground with an entrance through an ice cave. I want O'Brien to hit the entrance with detpacks then we scale down the lift shaft to where the lift car will be."

She noticed several of the troops smile at the thought of explosives. "No sense is being quiet, they already know we're here." As if to punctuate her words, an errant shot from the Romulans exploded nearby, rocking the _Lincoln_. Gripping a roof strap for support she continued. "At the bottom of the shaft we use detpacks again and blow the doors of the car. Once inside, I want a fast sweep of the facility. We don't know what kind of resistance we'll meet, so I want everyone sharp!" she admonished.

"We should be touching down in less than 10, Major." Lt. Campbell, the pilot announced.

Carlson acknowledged him and turned back to her team to make sure they understood. She noticed a hand go up.

"Major," Pvt. Brooks called from the back. "How do we know they wouldn't release the virus on us?"

Carlson believed in being blunt. "We don't." She replied flatly. She noticed a couple of cynical head nods. "Hopefully we can strike hard and fast enough that they won't have a chance. But, that's why we are here, to stop this thing and keep it from killing anyone else. If we go down, at least we go down fighting."

Captain Norwood held a hand tightly to his side and grimaced as he slowly began to straighten.

McCarthy scrambled to his feet, heading for the Captain.

"No, dammit. I'm alright." He waved away McCarthy.

McCarthy did his best to check the Captain over visually. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, dammit!" Norwood spat, irritated. "Lieutenant," he bellowed, trying to change the subject. "If you can get through to engineering, see if they would be good enough to send up a team for the science station please?" He said more sarcastically than was needed as he jabbed a finger pointedly at the ruined Science console.

Kat hurried to complete his request.

"Leigh, what the hell is the status of those warbirds?" Norwood barked, pointing at the viewscreen with one hand while his right still held his side.

Leigh paused, waiting for the ship to stop rocking as another shot slammed into the hull. "One ship hasn't been damaged, the other only has shields down to 80 with some minor damage." he replied disconcertedly.

Norwood sighed wearily, and McCarthy noticed the hand never left his side. He tried to stretch as if he had a stitch in his side. McCarthy decided to stay close to the Captain.

"Leigh," he said hoarsely. Norwood licked his lips then tried again more forcefully. "Mr. Leigh," he started sternly, then continued in a more subdued voice. "Target shield generators. Take your time." Norwood said calmly. McCarthy turned a concerned look toward him, but had to step aside as a four-man damage repair team came bustling out of the lift, carting equipment and parts with them.

"Captain, excuse me, sir. We have to get down there." It was the lead tech of the damage control team. He stood waiting patiently on the steps near Norwood.

"Of course, Mr. Haley." The Captain replied quietly. Taking a small, painful step forward, he paused. Haley noticed and set his case down.

"Moving a little stiff today, sir. Let me give you a hand." He went to his Captain's side, kicking debris out of his path. "Sir!" Haley exclaimed in a sudden panic.

Norwood had taken a few, slow steps forward and now stopped. Haley was frozen in place staring at the deck. McCarthy quickly stepped over, driven by the startled look on the man's face.

Barely visible in the dim, red lighting was a dark crimson puddle. In the center was a boot print that was slowly filling in as the surrounding blood crept in. A dragging trail led away from the puddle straight to where Norwood now stood, his hand still on his side. McCarthy noticed it hung there limply resting on his uniform belt as if he didn't have the strength to compress his side anymore.

Norwood tried to pull away as McCarthy undid the strap on the Captain's uniform flap, but he was in no shape to put up much of a struggle. The color drained out of his face as McCarthy watched. Finally getting his fumbling fingers to undo the clasp, he yank Norwood's whole uniform front open, nearly pulling the thinner man off his feet.

In the low light, he couldn't see the actual injury but with so much blood staining the Captain's white turtleneck he didn't need to.

"Aw, damn." McCarthy hissed. He looked to Norwood who met his gaze with a steady eye. Norwood knew, had known as soon as the console had blown apart. "We are going to Sickbay, don't fight me or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there." McCarthy hoarsely muttered at him.

Norwood wavered and nodded slightly, licking his pale lips.

"I'll help," Haley said nearby. He had seen the Captain's shirt also.

McCarthy shook his head. "No, Commander, you and your team need to get the Science station up and running again if possible."

"I'll go." Werner stood quickly, watching from the helm. He quickly vacated his seat at Navigation and waved over a junior officer to take his place.

McCarthy accepted his help without question, raising Norwood's arm over his shoulders to help support the Captain.

"Lieutenant," McCarthy fumbled for the name of the young woman at the helm position. "You have the conn until..." he paused unsure of what to say. Would Norwood be coming back?

Roberta saved him the trouble of further thought, smoothly sliding out of her chair and going to the conn. "Lt. Carson, take over for me please." She said very businesslike. Once she was seated, McCarthy met her gaze for a moment. She nodded indicating she was all set, the consummate professional, although he could see a tear well in her eye as she looked at Norwood. Blinking it back, Roberta cleared her throat and began to check with other stations, learning their status.

McCarthy and Werner helped Norwood limp up the stairs and toward a lift. Kel trotted in front of them shoving a chair out of the way and hurriedly slapping at the call button for the lift.

Once inside, the three fell as one against the lift wall. McCarthy barked for the lift to take them to Sickbay, emergency status.

Werner's concerned look went from Norwood to McCarthy and back to his Captain. "How is he?"

McCarthy shook his head and sighed deeply. "I don't know," He watched as Norwood slumped into unconsciousness. "It's all internal injuries." Pushing his fingers into the groove of Norwood's neck he felt for a pulse. Werner watched him then look to McCarthy, hopeful.

Norwood sagged against the lift wall, held up by only McCarthy and Werner on either side. He was white as a sheet, unconscious with his mouth open, breaths coming in wet gasps. McCarthy met Werner's concerned look with one of his own and silently urged the lift to go faster. Werner searched out something to distract himself and settled on the painfully slow moving counter above the lift doors.

As a soft chime announced their arrival, each man grabbed an arm and hoisted Norwood up ready to head into Sickbay directly across from the lift. A sudden, horrid sound of metal tearing and a grinding screech surrounded them before the lift doors were fully opened. A shot from above had forced the liftcar further down it's shaft several inches.

Medical staff from inside Sickbay had heard the shriek of torn metal and rushed to help. Piling forward, several arms met McCarthy and Werner and helped lift Norwood out of the car. The Captain was quickly carried to a bed with McCarthy and Werner close behind.

Blackbear himself made his way through the throng and began examining him. Werner quickly moved aside as a med tech came at McCarthy with a dermal regenerator for his forehead.

"I'd like to stay," Werner said quietly to McCarthy as they watched an emergency transfusion being set up for Norwood.

McCarthy turned to face the young Navigator and purposefully blocked his view of his Captain.

"Scott, we can't do any good here. We're just in the way. Let the medical staff do their job. We need to do ours. If you want to help, help me get the ship out of this in one piece." He turned letting Werner watch Norwood. "I need you. He needs you. All right?"

Reluctantly, Werner agreed. The two started for the door just as Dr. Blackbear called to them.

"Captain, about Commander Seward." He began quickly. He took them into the Intensive Care area outside Seward's room and only continued after the doors had shut closing them off from the rest of Sickbay.

"His body is fighting back the infection." He announced as he turned up the transparency of the polarized glass in the observation window so they could see Seward in the bed. Nurse Lane, seated to his left, dozed in a tall chair next to his bed.

McCarthy nodded, puzzled. "That's good, right?" He watched as Seward began to stir in his sleep. Seward mouthed something the watchers couldn't hear and reached out weakly. Shea's eyes snapped open and she quickly clasped his hand and soothed him with her words.

"It is good, but its from nothing that I have done. His body is combating it without much help from us. At first I thought it was some kind of natural immunity until the blood work came back on him." Blackbear paused and looked at Werner, wondering if it was appropriate for him to continue.

"Go on, Doctor, I don't have time for secrets." McCarthy said perturbed.

The doctor nodded and sighed. "The Commander shows Romulan antibodies in his system. I don't know where they came from, but that is why is has survived this long."

"Romulan?" McCarthy echoed.

"Yes, and in fact I've been able to use them to treat Dr. Miller. He is showing marked improvement!" Blackbear replied hoarsely.

McCarthy scowled in thought. "Well, that's good, isn't it?." He said dumbly, not sure how to take this new information. "Continue working on this, doctor. It should be an interesting story if we make it out of here alive."

"We'll have a primary command center at the shuttle. Once the cave is secured, I want two bodies stationed there. The rest secure the base." Major Carlson turned back to the pilot, checking their descent progress.

"Ok, we'll be touching down in one minute. Any questions?" Receiving no replies, she nodded succinctly and reached for a roof strap as the shuttle prepared to land.

Once the shuttle was on the snowy ice shelf, the large ramp-door in the rear flopped to the ground, disgorging marines. Most of the group trotted toward the mine, a short distance away, their white parkas quickly blending in with the terrain around them.

Three immediately took up points around the shuttle, setting up guard posts. A smaller, sliding side door opened revealing the Major. She cast a surveying gaze around the planet, watching the marines trailing away as an aide set up her command post.

A high-powered communications array was brought online as well as several work stations that were built into the sides of the shuttle. They opened like the ramp in the shuttle's rear providing a work area and several small display screens. Major Carlson could tap into any of the marine's helmet monitors and see what they saw, or get readings on their life signs. Sensors on the shuttle gave her a bird's eye view of the area and would alert them to anything approaching the area. A magnetic shield, projected by the shuttle would prevent anyone beaming in and surprising them from either the ships overhead or the base below.

"_Major," _it was O'Brien calling in. _"we're ready to blow the doors, ma'am." _She announced.

Carlson frowned. "I didn't hear any weapons fire. How many guards were in the cave, Della?"

She watched on the screen as the young woman panned around the interior of the dark, glittering ice cave showing only her team. "_None, ma'am."_ She replied.

Carlson frowned. That didn't seem right. "Proceed with Detpacks."

On the viewscreens, she watched the view change as the team dropped behind cover as O'Brien's trotted away from the turbolift doors.

The concussion loosened dust and a few chunks of ice, but otherwise the packs did their job. Simultaneously, all the views on the screens showed the doors ripped open and a black gapping hole of the shaft beyond.

She watched as O'Brien ventured forward first and peered down the shaft, her helmet light illuminating the top of the lift car three levels down. Coming close next to her, Carlson saw another figure walk up to the damaged doors.

"_Switch to ropes and rappel gear." _Carlson heard Sgt. Henry Eller order over the connection. She watched as his breath puffed out and obscured the view.

"What's our status?" Finally reaching the bridge level of the Jeffries tube, McCarthy and Werner had thrown open the access panel built into the floor of the bridge with a bang, all to the startled looks of the bridge crew. McCarthy was helping Werner up the last few steps and out onto the bridge as Ramie stood.

"Two more of the smaller ships have been destroyed, sir." Roberta was reporting as she quickly jumped back in her chair at the helm.

McCarthy watched her as she moved, taking in the report. Glancing up at the empty captain's chair, he suddenly realized he was now in command. He decided to remain standing.

As soon as the doors of the lift car reluctantly slid open, Sgt. Eller had Privates Brooks and Skarsgard lay down cover fire even before they could see clearly. The liftcar and the corridor beyond were still smoke-filled from the detpacks' blast on the upper level of the lift shaft. Pausing momentarily, they ducked back on either side of the open door, listening and waiting. Surprised by the silence, they looked to Sgt. Eller before continuing. None of their shots had been returned.

Eller tapped Brooks and Skarsgard on the shoulder and motioned them forward into the corridor and to the right. He pointed to two more, Postema and Jahn, and indicated to the left side. He and Pvt. Harmon, followed after them.

"Okay, I want a quick and thorough search of all areas you come to. If you find one locked, scan the interior for hostiles and move on. If you do find someone, deal with them as you see fit and that does not mean invite him over for tea and crumpets, either! Scans show this corridor continues straight for 50 yards and then branches into a U shape ahead with a lab in the center. Harmon and I will check out the lab from the Alpha side. Brooks, you and Skarsgard will cover the Delta side. Postema, you guys take the Baker side. Understood?"

Postema raised a hand. "Sarge, what exactly is a crumpet?" He asked with a toothy smile. The others in the group did their best to hide their laughter, but Eller was stone-faced as ever.

"Ha ha, Postema," Eller began, deadpan. "Ever day you give me a new excuse to smother you in your sleep."

Jahn grinned and gave Postema a shove for trying to rile Eller but they all shared a laugh that broke the tension.

"Now, would you all like to go earn your pay, or continue swapping recipes?" Eller asked, and the group quieted down. Each pair moved off to opposite sides of the corridor and began checking room.

Cautiously, Harmon and Sgt. Eller moved toward the darkened lab, both with weapons drawn. Harmon had his phaser rifle while Eller preferred his sidearm. They could see through the frosted glass windows of the lab that the lights inside were off, but everything else were fuzzy shadows. They stopped about a dozen paces from the lab, alert for any motion within.

"I don't read anything from inside, Sarge, the room must be shielded." Harmon said in a muted voice, crouched with his tricorder out, his rifle across one knee.

"Typical," Eller muttered in a tense sigh. He reached up and tapped his helmet communicator. "Brooks, Skarsgard, anything?"

"Nothing, sir" Brooks replied quietly.

"Empty, ransacked rooms is all." Skarsgard chimed in.

Eller nodded, with a set jaw. "Ok, move into position on Delta side of the lab. Postema, Jahn, what about you two?"

Postema spoke for both. "We finished and are holding on the Baker side, sir. We only found an empty office and a munitions room but everything in it was booby trapped. We sealed the door and moved on, Sarge."

Eller grunted. "Yeah, I am not surprised. Major?" He knew she was monitoring their traffic.

Back at the shuttle, Carlson activated her comm link. "I'm here, Sergeant."

"Ma'am, its my opinion the base has been deserted. I think the ships we encountered held us long enough for the rest to get away." He reported in a low growl.

It looked the same to her. "Have you been able to ascertain if the virus is still in the lab?"

"No, Ma'am. The room is shielded. We were about to check it out, but we already found a munitions room rigged to blow if anything was touched." Eller replied, preferring to err on the side of caution.

"Ma'am?" Harmon spoke up. "Excuse me, Sarge, but I may be able to link up with the base computer and have it turn on the lights in the lab so we could at least see inside." he offered.

Eller nodded in agreement, giving Harmon the thumbs-up, but he knew the decision rested with Major Carlson.

"Go ahead, Harmon." She said after only a moment's thought.

Quietly moving over to the office nearby, Harmon began to work on the desktop terminal while he consulted his tricorder. After several tries, he finally got the two devices to cooperate and reemerged.

"I think I got it, sir." He rejoined Eller on his side of the lab. The other two teams had carefully stationed themselves on their respective sides, looking in so their helmet cams could send back images to the command center.

"What's the holdup, Harmon?" Eller gruffed, impatiently staring at the still dark, frosted windows, his weapon sweeping along the entire wall.

"It took a minute to translate it all, but I made the computer believe someone was entering the far side airlock. The system will start the standard decontamination sequence and then start everything up, lights and workstations. It should only take a minute, sir."

Faintly they could hear the whir of the airlock door opening on the far side. Preparing for the lights. Harmon stepped up to the window.

Right on cue, the lights inside flared. On the glass right in front of him Harmon saw a dark green handprint in dried blood that had run down the wall. He fought the urge to jump back, knowing Major Carlson would see it on her monitor.

"Damn," Postema said in surprise.

The rest of the lab was just as gory. Green blood splattered most of the surfaces inside with scorch marks on several walls and computers, indicating disruptors had been used against the unarmed lab scientists. Equipment had been shot or smashed as well as the personnel. The marines could make out at least 10 bodies on the floor, all dressed in the typical maroon Romulan medical smocks.

In the center lab was a large worktable. On one end, was the ominous rectangular void where something had sat, protecting that area of the table from the blood splatter.

"Major," Seasoned or not, Eller couldn't keep the edginess out of his voice as his blood froze in his veins while he stared at that spot.

"_I see it, Sergeant. Get your teams out of there. Come out the same way you went in, I don't want to risk going anywhere new."_

Both teams were already on the move, rejoining Eller and Harmon at a trot and then heading back for the lift car together.

"Captain McCarthy." Lt. Federov called to him calmly. "I have an incoming call for you, sir. Its the shuttlecraft _Lincoln_."

"Go ahead on put them on speakers, Lieutenant. I'll speak to them." McCarthy felt out of place answering for this ship.

"_Captain?" _Came Major Carlson's questioning voice over the ceiling-mounted speakers. McCarthy could detect the puzzlement in her voice.

"Captain Norwood has been injured, Major, and Commander Seward is still in Sickbay. I'm all that's left." He explained.

"_Understood, sir. We are vacating the base. Its deserted and it looks like they took the virus with them. All the lab personnel have been slaughtered."_

Captain McCarthy sighed deeply and slammed a fist against the command chair's armrest. The Tal Shiar had gotten away with it. They had killed an entire Starbase, the innocent crew of a ship, and had gotten away with a weapon that would let them do it again.

"Very well, Major, make sure you get your team back safely. McCarthy out." he said, frustrated.

"Come on, O'Brien! Move your ass. I can't leave until you do!" Eller shouted from the mouth of the cave. O'Brien was setting the last charge to blow the base to rubble.

"Coming, sir" she called over her shoulder after confirming she got a good signal from the other charges left below. She crammed her tricorder in a vest pocket, zipped up her parka and trotted toward the cave entrance. Eller was there, looking tense and waving her along.

Pushing O'Brien ahead of him, the two broke into a hard run at the sound of the _Lincoln_'s engines starting up. Major Carlson was at the side door waiting for them as she finished her conversation with McCarthy.

"We're ready to detonate, ma'am." O'Brien breathed taking a seat.

Eller slapped the door controls and nodded to the pilot.

Carlson watched the display to verify when they were far enough away, then gave O'Brien the go ahead. Keying the code into her tricorder, they all heard the distant rumble of the explosion leveling the cave.

"Good work, all of you." She replied, then turned back to the pilot's station, watching their return trip.

Sgt. Eller looked over his team with a quick smile and a shake of his head. He was pleased with their performance and they knew it.

"Exiting the atmosphere and going to full impulse. Hang on back there." Campbell called back, warning them. They were flying back into a battle and he wanted to get them as close as possible to _Arizona_ before having to power down and maneuver the shuttle back to the bay.

Bracing themselves the team felt the large shuttle jump as her speed increased dramatically.

"Major!" Campbell's excited voice rang out as a shot lurched the shuttle. "We've got an unfriendly on our tail. Looks like one of the small Romulan fighters."

"Damn," Carlson muttered, she said moving forward to watch over his shoulder. "See if you can raise the fighter escorts. This tub can't match that Romulan's maneuverability." She commanded. "Then see if you can get us more speed."

The shuttle's speed increased again, but it only gave them a few seconds more as the Romulan continued to close the distance. In a firefight, the Romulan ship could run circles around the large shuttlecraft, firing the whole time.

"Still trying to raise the escorts, Ma'am. The Romulan is closing faster." Campbell reported, both hands flying on the controls.

Carlson braced herself for the inevitable. She could almost sense the shot the Romulan was preparing to fire.

"_Major, looks like you picked up a hitchhiker, Ma'am." _Ernie Walker's smooth baritone came booming suddenly out of the shuttle's speakers. _"Let's see if we can't teach him some manners!"_

Walker and Joker had resumed their positions flanking the shuttle. Behind them, the Romulan fighter was still closing fast. The other escorts had been forced to break off and deal with a new wave of attack ships threatening _Arizona_. Tapping out a direct signal, Walker sent a message to Joker. They were flying so close to one another she only had to turn her head and nod to let him know she understood.

Holding up three fingers, Walker began a countdown with her. When his last digit fell, the two fighters broke off escort in unison, both slowing slightly. Moving as one, both suddenly accelerated and changed course. Performing a complete 360 degree loop together, they timed their maneuver perfectly to end up behind the startled Romulan. Smiling across the way at Joker, Walker gave her a thumbs up and the two fired into the engines of the enemy ship. Again, moving simultaneously the two veered away from the resulting explosion and rocketed ahead to retake their positions protecting the _Lincoln's_ rear.

"_Commander Walker, you can cover my butt any day." _Major Carlson called over the fighter pilot's channel.

"Sir, fighter bay reports all escorts and the shuttlecraft _Lincoln _are back safely aboard." Federov quickly interjected into the riot of noise back on _Arizona_.

McCarthy appreciated the information but it was mainly a distraction. _Arizona's_ fighters may have taken out the last of the smaller Romulan attack craft, but the two remaining warbirds had taken up positions on either side of her, hammering her.

Warp power was off-line and shields were failing. McCarthy watched the helm display as each warbird moved in even closer. Now would be a perfect time to send a spread of torpedoes down their throat, except _Arizona_ had exhausted her compliment of torpedoes long ago. Leigh was still at the weapons station using phasers to take potshots at the warbirds, for all it mattered.

McCarthy debated sending out the one-man fighters again, but what could they do against two Romulan warbirds? Even if they could hold out long enough to do any damage to them, where would they go after _Arizona_ herself was destroyed by this unrelenting attack?

"Sir!" Werner yelled with panic is his voice. McCarthy whirled from the communications station and stared with an open mouth at the viewscreen. A Klingon battlecruiser, larger than anything McCarthy had ever seen before, had just decloaked behind the Romulan ship on _Arizona's_ port side. It was an immense ship, heavily armored and longer than _Arizona_ by half. Threateningly, she just seemed to hang there as if surveying the scene she suddenly found herself in. Two enemy ships, firing on another enemy ship, all in violation of treaties. Again, the Romulan fired on _Arizona, _either oblivious to the Klingon's presence or trying to send the message to stay out of it.

Suddenly, as if scared from behind, the Romulan ship reared upward. McCarthy saw an incredible amount of disruptor energy coming from countless weapons on the huge Klingon ship, along with several full spreads of torpedoes.

"All available power to the shields!" McCarthy yelled. He knew what was coming.

On the screen, the warbird's skin crawled with the excess energy covering it with blue spidery, angry bolts. It's weapons had suddenly cut out and it seemed dead. Even the navigational lights had winked off. The explosion began in the center of the ship, blowing a hole through both the top and bottom of the warbird. Spreading, it enveloped the ship vaporizing it. Little if any of the debris impacted _Arizona's_ shields, but she was buffeted by the concussion of the blast.

A sigh of relief caught in McCarthy's throat.

"Status of the other warbird?" He asked. This wasn't over.

"Moving off, sir." Ramie replied tensely. "She's got engine damage so she's not getting away quickly." She said, watching the screen intently.

"Captain," Federov called him, surprised. "Sir, we are being hailed. By the Klingons."

McCarthy's brow rose. "On…on screen, please." He said, numbed.

Peering into the bridge, larger than life, was a rather burly, rather old Klingon with long iron-gray hair and white in his mustache. He wore the typical uniform of a warrior, but his collar and sash were red trimmed with black, denoting he was a high ranking officer in the Empire, with connections to the Klingon Chancellor. He sat calmly, surveying the bridge with an ever-present scowl, finally settling his gaze on Captain McCarthy standing in front of the command chair.

"I was not aware of a change in the command of this vessel." He questioned, speaking with a thick accent that showed he normally spoke his own native language.

"Captain Norwood has been injured in the battle." was all McCarthy offered.

"Commander Seward?" The grizzled Klingon questioned.

This Klingon seemed to know a lot about the _Arizona_. "The Commander is grievously ill. I am Captain McCarthy. And you are?" He asked.

The Klingon's only reaction was to slowly raise one bushy brow. He paused a moment before continuing.

"If he should die, may it be with honor. If he should live, tell him we are now even." And the connection was immediately cut. On the bridge screen they watched the Klingon turn gracefully and pursue the limping Romulan warbird before it shimmered back into invisibility, it's cloak reactivated. The Romulan ship appeared to try and get away even faster.

Captain McCarthy released an enormous breath he didn't know he was holding and leaned forward, bracing himself on the back of the helmsman's and navigator's chairs.

"Holy shit," Werner muttered under his breath.

"Mr. Werner," McCarthy said, with a laugh. "You can say that again."

**Chapter 11**

The first thing Seward noticed was that it was warm. Very warm. He opened his eyes and found himself on his favorite trail back home in the wilds of Colorado. The sun beat down so brightly it almost hurt. Judging its height, he guessed it was late afternoon. Suddenly registering a weight across his legs, he looked down and realized he was sitting on a large rock with his old phaser rifle in his lap. Not a Starfleet issued rifle, this was more of a sportsman's rifle. It could be used for humane hunting or even testing a hunter's range and targeting by allowing the animal to be only stunned instead of needlessly killed.

Seward smiled in spite of himself. He was home. Splitting the silence, he heard the call of a hawk gliding on the air high above him. Seward cupped his hand above his eyes to block out the sun as he watched it. The sharp snap of a dry twig behind him and to his right made him turn quickly.

Something large was coming through the scrub brush and small trees that lined the trail. Seward hoped it was an elk. Dropping behind the rock, he crouched waiting to sight in the animal.

Whatever it was, it was moving slowly. Maybe it was feeding as it went, not realizing the danger that lay nearby. Quietly, Seward checked his power level and wrapped his wrist in the rifle's sling as he got ready to aim. Again the animal began to move, more slowly, perhaps even more cautiously, this time. Seward raised his rifle to his shoulder and prepared to sight in his target. Making sure he was sufficiently low enough not to be spotted by the animal, he waited for it to appear. He could still hear it moving, stopping long enough to probably feed some more or sniff the air before it began to rustle through the trees again.

Seward knew exactly where it would come out on the path and closed his eye in preparation to aim. He slowed his breathing as he began to tighten his finger on the trigger. Surprisingly the first thing Seward saw through the sight was a glint of sunlight off something shiny. He jerked back from the sight blinking away the afterimage of the flash, then moved back to view the object again. It took a moment for him to register that he was looking at something metal, and that the thing , whatever it was, was too close for him to see the whole body through the scope. Opening his other eye, he looked around the rifle. His first instinct was to try and stand too quickly as he also tried back up, stumbling back a few paces. It wasn't an animal, coming through the trees. It turned out to be the hideous, half-dead being that attacked Seward on the _Aurora_.

Here it was, in its torn and bloody clothes, its body crusted with dried blood, its arm still held painfully at its side. The face, with its dead crimson eyes staring directly at Seward, its arm upraised for attack.

The glint of sunlight through the scope came from its gory knife, the same knife that had slashed Seward's leg. Remembering his rifle still held in his panic-numbed hands, he turned and fired the weapon.

Nothing happened. The thing still came him, still dragging it's injured leg shot by McCarthy's phaser, still brandishing it's knife.

"No," Seward muttered. He checked his rifle, raised it and tried again. Again nothing happened. The thing was getting closer.

"No!" Seward shouted. He felt a burning on his leg, like the time he had gotten too close to the campfire as a child. Looking down he saw a wide, angry bloody gash across his thigh, suddenly numbing his whole leg with pain. A rancid smell filled his nostrils, choking him, a shadow fell across his face. The thing was on top of him and he was unable to get away.

"NO!" He shouted trying to shove away the rotted hand that had grabbed his shoulder.

Jerking upright in bed, he found himself in Sickbay. Disoriented, he still pawed at the hand he felt on his shoulder. Turning suddenly he saw the face of the nurse seated at his bedside. Gazing at her with wide, unrecognizing eyes filled with terror. She jumped up and grabbed his shoulders, holding him back from hurting himself and speaking quietly and directly to him.

As Seward caught his breath and looked around him, jumbled thoughts began to come to him. He began to recognize his surroundings.

"_Aidoann,_" he muttered in a mournful, breathless sigh.

"What?" Nurse Lane asked, perplexed.

Seward closed his eyes and clapped a hand to the side of his head, trying to calm the pounding inside.

Running his fingers through his disheveled hair he swallowed hard. He could still feel the butt of the rifle pressed against his other shoulder.

"Never mind," he panted. Looking down at his legs, he realized the weight and warmth across his lap had been an extra blanket. Forcefully, he kicked it off, trying to lose all reminders of his nightmare.

"I need," he paused to take a deep breath. "…to see the Captain." he gasped, trying to slow his hammering heart.

**Chapter 12**

_Captain's Log, Stardate 10505.30. Captain Jacob McCarthy reporting in temporary command._

_Repairs to the warp drive continue. At least, with impulse power, we've been able to finally move out of the Neutral Zone. Commander Seward is on the mend and should be out of Sickbay within a few days. He only smiled when I passed along the message from the Klingon commander and frankly I don't want to know the details about it. Now comes an even more difficult task than repairing a warp drive in enemy space._

Entering Sickbay, McCarthy felt his legs turn to lead. He didn't want to be here, at least not under these circumstances. But when Blackbear's call came into the bridge an hour ago, he knew it was his place to go, even as a cold trickle went down his back.

Stopping by the Doctor's office, he found him seated behind his desk, talking quietly with Commander Seward who sat on the corner of the doctor's desk. McCarthy licked his dry lips and knocked on the open door.

Seward looked much better than he had, but his left eye still showed a blood red residue from the broken capillaries and the face he turned to McCarthy still showed several large bruises that were beginning to yellow with age. He was still dressed in his own nightclothes, but he had regained that commanding presence, back straight, shoulders square.

Seward slid off the desk and came toward him with his hand extended.

"Very good work, Captain. I am glad you were here. You saved the ship." He said with a sincerity that surprised McCarthy.

McCarthy cleared his throat roughly. "Thank you," he replied, firmly gripping Seward's hand.

Awkward silence settled in as the three men stood there, each in his own thoughts.

"Uh, no change?" McCarthy asked finally.

Dr. Blackbear shook his head. "No, I am afraid not."

"Well,…" Seward began, but didn't finish. He just studied the floor.

Blackbear took the initiative. "Let's go see him."  
Entering the ICU ward that Seward had so recently occupied, they found Captain Norwood being tended by two nurses. Dr. Blackbear dismissed them both quietly with his thanks for all they had done.

At the sound of a new voice, Norwood stirred slightly, his fingers rose off the blanket in a half-greeting to the new comers clustered at the foot of his bed.. His eyes were open so little they could barely tell. A bulge at his side under the blanket indicated the pressure bandage over his wound.

Dr. Blackbear, knowing his patient's condition, was business as usual.

"How are we feeling, sir? Any pain at all?" He said in a falsely positive voice as he stepped forward and began checking vital signs on the overhead display.

Norwood seemed to move in slow motion, sedated by the painkillers in an attempt to keep him comfortable at least. He smiled groggily at the Doctor's attempt at nonchalance. Norwood knew the truth.

McCarthy, also thinly veiling his real concern, stepped up to the other side of the bed.

"Captain, how are you, sir?" he laid a gently hand on Norwood's thin shoulder.

The Captain nodded and let his eyes slide closed as he used up what little energy he had. After a deep breath, he reopened his eyes and slowly raised his head enough to look at Seward. Seward had stayed at the foot of the bed. The two men made eye contact, then exhausted, Norwood let his head drop back onto the pillow.

McCarthy and Blackbear, watching the wordless exchange remained on either side of the Captain. After a few breaths, Norwood turned to face the Doctor. He needed no words, his questioning eyes spoke volumes.

"No, sir." Blackbear said in a throaty rumble. "Nothing can be done."

Norwood seemed to accept it with a small smile on his dried lips. Again his watery eyes closed.

Once he had rested, he again opened them again and tried to say something.

"Easy, Captain." Blackbear cautioned.

Norwood dismissed his warning with a weak-handed wave and licked his lips.

"Status?" he rasped in a whisper.

McCarthy, leaning forward had caught the simple request.

"We did get the ship out of the Zone, sir. We are hidden near a gas giant and are making repairs to the warp drive." McCarthy patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, the ship is safe."

Norwood swallowed hard and nodded, trying to shut his eyes before the tears welling in them ran down his face. He forced them open and mouthed the word '_Thanks'_ to McCarthy.

"The thanks goes to you, sir. You trained this crew well." McCarthy told him.

Norwood's smile seemed to slip a little and McCarthy thought he may have fallen unconscious. As they watched his chest rise with each labored breath, it seemed he was actually storing up energy.

Surprisingly he began to stir again, licking his lips again, trying to wet them for speech.

"Knowing," he blurted out as he lifted his head. "that everything ….is taken care of…." His head fell back on the pillow again as he gasped out a breath, but he went on.

"Makes me…feel like I…." He took two breaths, then continued. "…earned a good night's rest…after an honest days work." He finished, his eyes closed again from the exertion, but the faint smile stayed on his face.

Having said what he wanted, he seemed to drift off to the sleep he had mentioned. His breathing became slower and less labored. The lines in his brow relaxed and he seemed more at peace.

Watching this subtle change come over him, McCarthy looked up to the Doctor.

Blackbear carefully pulled the blanket up higher and made his patient as comfortable as possible. Seward remained at the door, watching.

McCarthy glanced at the indicators above Norwood's bed. Each had begun to dip, lower and lower. Peacefully asleep, the Captain's breathing became more shallow in just a few moments. At the end, he simply slipped away.

**Chapter 13**

Out of the darkness, she cut off a gasp of fright and quickly sat up in her bunk. Something had woken her, warned her. Behind her, the window allowed only feeble starlight into her cabin, but she could tell someone was there. Keeping her back to the wall, she composed herself, and faced the person who she could not see but her sixth sense adamantly insisted was present, nevertheless. Drawing her legs up underneath her, she arranged her bed-cloak covering her body completely, ready.

Finally, she spoke. "So?" she asked quietly, in the harsh word of her own language.

Taking a half step forward further into her tiny cabin, she recognized the intruder was Tahn, her Centurion. He made no apologies for the intrusion. He never did.

Given the permission to finally divulge his information, Tahn's normally stony countenance broke into a evil leer. "They have escaped." Was his only reply, hissed at her in his slinky whisper.

Refusing to look at him, and thereby insulting him, she continued to glance to the floor. Her only response to his news was an arched eyebrow and a slowly released sigh.

Tahn, ignoring the insult completely, had more to tell. He looked away from her in turn, and began to study his fingernails. "The _Valdex_, the _Tae Lanor _and the _Wy'Vock_ were all lost however." He added with as much concern as if he had told her he had just squashed an insect.

The sigh suddenly caught in her throat. Three warbirds completely destroyed? How could one enemy ship do that?

Picking up on her shock, Tahn continued although a look of disgusted settled on his features. "It seems the Klingons arrived and destroyed both the _Valdex_ and the _Wy'Vock_." His said distastefully, not for the lost ships or their crews but because he had to say the word 'Klingons'.

"I did relay our report, for you." He informed her brightly, in his oily tone. In other words, he had reported that she lost three ships, and their crews, all under the guise of being helpful.

Inside, she seethed, but for the life of her she would not let him see. "Fine," she replied evenly. "Leave."

Thankfully, Tahn did without another word. As soon as the door slid behind his smug face, a blade flashed like lightning through the darkness and stuck in the metal of the door right where his head had been. Secreted in an inside pocket of her bed cloak, she had clutched it all during their conversation, her grip on it increasing the longer Tahn was around her. Raising her hand closer to her face, she could see where the ornate handle had cut into her palm. Studying the patterns of blood running through the creases of skin, she forced herself to slow her breathing, calm herself.

"Computer, prepare to change my cabin door lock code, _again!"_

**Epilogue**

The warm Hawaiian sun was just beginning its slow descent, dipping below the horizon as it cast a deep orange glow to the sky, but the solitary figure on the floating monument could still make out the cratered hull of the ancient battleship just below the surface of the salty water. Watching a flower lei float by, no doubt left as a memorial by a earlier visitor, he focused on the rainbow swirls of oil that still bled from her after three centuries and relaxed, letting his mind drift back to what it must have been like to command such a ship. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he could almost smell the odor of the oil that fueled her, feel the deep chugging of the huge diesel engines that drove the ship, and the hear the deafening explosion of the huge guns. It all added to the stirring and romantic images of centuries gone by.

'_It certainly would have been different,"_ He surmised as a quiet smile danced across his lips.

His reflections were interrupted by the low hum of an approaching shuttlecraft. He glared at it, watching as it banked and swerved and did a few barrel rolls, seeming to be on some sort of joyride.

Any vehicle, water or air, was strictly prohibited anywhere near the memorial to help preserve the ship's remains, and the remains of over eleven hundred sailors resting inside her. Over three hundred years in salt water made the wreck extremely brittle and very delicate.

"Damn tourists," he muttered, glaring at the shuttle as it finally streaked out of the area.

The darkening twilight was replaced momentarily by the golden-orange shimmer of a transporter beam.

"There goes my peace and quiet." Jake McCarthy said under his breath as he watched the person materialize. "Oh, good, it's just you."

"Thought I'd find you here." Commander Seward said, coming to join him at the railing overlooking the ship.

"Just thinking." McCarthy said. Together the two shared a quiet moment gazing out at the turret well that rose out of the sea. "What did VanderJagt have to say?" McCarthy asked finally.

Seward took a deep breath. "Well, with the Tal Shiar still on the loose with the virus, he's scheduled a meeting with the Federation council to brief them. I'm guessing we are going to get a new bunch of operating procedures for how to deal with anything Romulan after this."

"Hmm," McCarthy murmured, thinking they should probably be going soon. It was past visiting hours and the memorial was technically closed. McCarthy was only here as a special favor.

They started a subdued walk through the memorial, saluting to the guard on duty as they passed the large wall of white stone, inscribed with the names of everyone that had died on the battleship _Arizona._

Stopping to look them over, Seward broke the silence.

"Admiral VanderJagt says you still haven't given him an answer."

McCarthy paused a moment longer and gently traced name of the Captain of this _Arizona _carved in the cool, polished marble.

Turning to Seward with a reflective look. "I'd be honored to be the Captain of her namesake." he said nodding toward the wall of names.

Seward smiled and extended his hand. After they shook, the two walked back to the transporter pad.

"Come on, we can go into Chinatown and I'll buy you dinner." Seward offered.

McCarthy smiled. "This isn't some attempt at buttering up your new Captain is it?" He asked as the transporter began to sweep them away.


End file.
